


Slumbering Changes

by thejourneymaninn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Smut, implied/referenced past rape/non-con, minor Aveline/Donnic, minor Merrill/Isabela, of the mostly fluffy variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7245805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted and half-asleep after a long day, Anders and Fenris get a little closer than expected. This small slip-up leads to a profound change in their relationship, but the road is rocky, and they might need their friends to lend a helping hand – or two – along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The day has been long and wearisome - hordes of Tal-Vashoth, followed by hordes of bandits, followed by yet more hordes of Tal-Vashoth, peppered with the occasional dash of Blood mage. Nothing they aren’t used to and nothing they cannot handle, but generally, this amount of opponents leaps at them in the span of days, not hours. It slows their progress. At this rate, it will take a week to get back to Kirkwall, at best. A prospect no one is all too happy about; rarely has a soft bed sounded more alluring.

Exhausted as they are, they still get a fire going, set up their tents as make-shift as they can get away with, and handle their meal in much the same fashion. There is none of the usual chatter and joking as they sit down to eat, and the cards for Wicked Grace never leave Varric’s pocket. Even Anders manages to sit next to Fenris without a single spiteful remark, just shovelling down his food, as silent as everyone else.

Once their growling bellies have been appeased, Varric and Hawke make for their tent. Fenris envies them. He has first watch; for him, sleep is still several hours away. Perched uncomfortably on the rotting carcass of a tree, he stares into the flames, struggling to stay awake. He should be alone out here by now, but the mage is still sitting right next to him. Apparently too tired to get up and walk the few feet to their tent, he keeps dozing off and jolting awake, only to doze right off again. During what must be the fifth round of this, Anders’ head lolls to the side and comes to rest on Fenris’ shoulder. The elf huffs quietly, slightly annoyed but too drained to muster the energy to shake him awake…also, he has to grudgingly admit, the warm weight feels rather…nice.

Anders seems to still be drifting somewhere in that small, clouded place between waking and dreaming, when he starts to mumble something. Fenris, trying to make out what the mage is saying – although he doesn’t really know why he should even care – turns his head to look at him.

“What is it, mage?”

He cannot tell if his words register. Anders does not appear to stir, but his head begins to move off Fenris’ shoulder, slightly upwards against his neck, almost _nuzzling_ ; it keeps moving, then…Anders’ lips are on his.

Fenris eyebrows shoot up like gaatlok, eyes wide, ears reddening as he sits there completely dumbfounded, too stunned to move. The mage’s eyes are still closed; his expression is calm, blissfully unaware of the world around him. His lips begin to move, enveloping Fenris’, and the elf finds himself reacting, answering their call. Hesitantly, yes, but there is a longing in it that he can’t deny. Maybe not for Anders, not exactly, but for this…closeness, this warmth, this familiar face suddenly so different. There is so much tenderness in the playful movements of the mage’s lips, his body a warm, reassuring presence next to him.

Anders opens his mouth wider, and Fenris’ tongue moves to slide inside. He cannot fathom how his body knows what to do; he has no experience with this, at least none he remembers, but it feels perfectly natural. It feels right. And judging by the way Anders tongue welcomes his, gentle but with a hint of greed that sends a shock along Fenris' spine, right down to his feet and into the ground supporting them, the mage seems to agree. Another, entirely different shock follows as Anders’ eyes suddenly flutter open, the waking world pulling him back from whatever peaceful place he let Fenris join him in for that precious moment. Fenris freezes in place as Anders first blinks at him, then stares, his face so full of horror Fenris feels like his heart is being crushed in his chest, no lyrium markings required. It shouldn't hurt; the mage has every right to be appalled. Whomever his lips were searching for in his slumber, it certainly wasn't him, and that he did not shake Anders awake at his unconscious approach is inexcusable. Fenris is perfectly aware of that.

He wants to run away, hide in his tent and never look at Anders again, but he has to keep watch. And they _share_ said tent, no escape there even if he abandoned his duty. He pulls away, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"It...would appear we dozed off. I apologise. You should get some sleep."

Anders nods, uncharacteristically acquiescent.

"I...right. I probably should....Wake me when it's my turn?"

"I will,” Fenris says, knowing he won't. There is no chance he will manage to sleep, and he'd rather spend the whole night on watch than have to face the mage again so soon. The mage that shoots him a last sideways glance before getting up and disappearing into their tent.


	2. Chapter 2

The mage keeps staring at him out of the corner of his eye, all day long, except for when they are interrupted by yet another wave of attackers. But he still hasn’t said anything. Not that Fenris wants to talk about it, in fact, he would refuse to should Anders try, but it is still a miracle. Normally, the man cannot shut up long enough to draw a proper breath.

Fenris knows what he did was wrong. Anders wasn’t aware of what he was doing, did not want to kiss him. They aren’t friends; more precisely, they hate each other. Or rather, Anders hates him. Fenris is mostly just unsettled by the mage’s demon, if he is quite honest – granted, he also finds the man exceedingly annoying, but he does not quite hate him, in any case not as much as Anders clearly loathes him. He probably despises Fenris even more now, and he has good reason to. It was Fenris’ duty to stop it, and he didn’t. The elf continues to keep his eyes averted, to not provoke the mage any further. He is trying his best to keep his distance; what more does Anders want? He cannot undo it.

The day has been bursting with attacks, again. Fresh blood, gore, and more body parts than Fenris likes to think of decorating their attire. Now, with the dusky evening progressing rapidly, they have made camp near a stream. Gently flowing water, the surrounding rocks smoothed by its passage - it is a nice place, and everyone has stripped to their underclothes, washing away death and exertion. Everyone except Fenris. He has not moved since the mage began to strip, futilely trying not to watch him. He resigns himself to at least not staring all too openly. He has seen the mage shirtless often enough; he never cared. But it is different now. Anders may be the same, but Fenris sees him differently. Or simply _sees_ him. Sees that he is beautiful. It makes him remember the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body. It makes him long to feel him close again, touch the pale skin, learn the pattern of the countless freckles, the texture of the weird little hairs on his chest. Elves do not grow those, and Fenris wonders if they are as soft as they look. Do they have their own smell, like the hair on Anders’ head does? Fenris forcefully closes his eyes, ashamed of his behaviour. He has no right to ogle the mage like this. This is not the way to atone for his mistake. No more of it.

He knows he should clean up too - as a warrior, in the dead centre of enemy attention (and disintegration), he actually needs it more than the others, but he does not want to expose himself in front of the mage, not anymore. That feels different now, too.

"Aren’t you coming?” Hawke shouts, splashing his arms. “It’s surprisingly warm. And you are still remarkably red.”

“Someone should keep watch, lest we fall prey to an ambush. I shall clean myself while you prepare the food.”

“Since when do we do that? Anyone wants to fight my wet, slippery arse, be my guest. And who keeps watch for _you_ in that little plan? Your misty rear deserves protection too, so get it in here,” Hawke laughs.

Fenris is still fumbling for another excuse when Varric interjects, “I can do that. Sitting at streams, writing stories, the pondering dwarf in the bosom of nature, sounds good to me. The elf and I will simply eat later.”

Does the dwarf know? The remark seemed casual enough, but Fenris has long since learned that no matter how disinterested he seems, somehow the dwarf _always_ knows. However, the clearly annoyed look he receives from another source makes him stop caring if Varric suspects anything - it doesn’t matter, for Anders _does_.


	3. Chapter 3

It is a quiet night, nothing to hear outside save the occasional animal noise and the distant crackle of the campfire. Nothing to hear inside either, neither Fenris nor the mage has said a word since Fenris entered and immediately began to busy himself with his bedroll. Four nights have passed since their accidental encounter and until tonight, Fenris managed to avoid being inside their tent with Anders during the times when the mage was awake. When one of them had first watch it was easy; the other times he stalled, offering to collect firewood before going to sleep, or to keep whomever was on watch-duty company.

But tonight Varric told him to, “Please, go brood and droop in your tent, and get some sleep while you’re at it, before you keel over and turn into kindling yourself. I’m not in the mood for elf-roast, and much as I hate to say it, even Bianca’s chattier than you right now.”

Fenris would have objected, but idle talk was not his strong suit even when he was at his best, and after several nights of little sleep, he was nowhere near his best. So he reluctantly retreated to the tent he shared with the mage and as he had feared, Anders was reading by the light of a few candles placed next to his bedroll, still very much awake.

By the time the elf, having removed only the metal parts of his armour, finally lies down for the night, Anders has closed his book but not extinguished the candles. The silence stretches between them; Fenris could swear he can feel it watching him, like a bird of prey waiting to swoop down at any moment.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me,” the mage says so abruptly it hits Fenris like a kick in the gut. “Not that quiet-you hasn’t been enjoyable; I feel so much less evil and dangerous already for the drastic lack of sneers and insults, but now it’s just getting ridiculous. If you keep your head constantly angled away from me for much longer you’ll pull a muscle. What exactly happened between us that night – and don’t act like you don’t know _which_ night. I have a right to know.”

Of course it was foolish to hope Anders might just let this go. He never leaves anything uncommented, regardless of whether it is any of his concern; so why would he keep quiet when something does indeed very much concern him? He would not. It is a wonder he waited as long as he did; the man is never quiet. And he is stubborn. There is no getting out of this - not that he deserves a way out. For once, Anders is right about something: Fenris does owe him the details. That does not mean he has to like humiliating himself this way.

He sits up to face the mage, yet avoids looking at him. “I had first watch. The others went to sleep, but you were too exhausted to get up. Or too stubborn. You kept dozing off, and your head came to rest upon my shoulder. I did consider swatting you away like a gnat but could not muster the energy. I was drained as well. And…I did not mind too much. At least you were quiet this way. Unsurprisingly, not for long. You started mumbling something. I did not realise you were talking in your sleep, so I turned my head towards you – and you put your lips on mine. Then a…ahem…kiss…happened,” he trails off, wishing his words were less of a clumsy rush.

The mage nods slowly. “So I forced myself on you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

As much as Fenris wishes he could just let him believe that, he knows he has no right to do so, no matter how Anders will mock him for it. “You were not aware of what you were doing. And I did not stop it. I am the one who has to apologize.”

“Why didn't you stop it when it was obviously so horrible for you?” Anders asks, brows furrowed.

“What are you on about?”

“Like I said, you’ve been avoiding me completely. Sure, you're generally not too keen on my company, no news there, but you refuse to even look at me and jump at the slightest accidental touch. So I’m guessing it was that bad.”

“Do you enjoy torturing me? Forget the question, of course you do,” Fenris grits out. Yes, he knew Anders would mock him, but that does not make it sting any less.

“What in Andraste's name are you talking about?”

“Forcing me to admit it. That it was fine.”

“Fine?” Anders asks, eyebrows raised so high they might just as well be part of his hair.

“Yes. Fine. Can we stop this now? I know I’ve wronged you, and I am keeping my distance to own my offense.”

“So you...liked it.”

“Yes. It was horrible for only one of us.”

There is a short pause before Anders replies, the hint of a smile on his face. “What I remember didn't exactly feel horrible. But then, I wasn't quite awake, was I; I'm in no position to judge that.” More than a hint of smugness takes over his smile as he continues, “I deserve a conscious kiss, don't I?”

“What?” Fenris is too stunned to say more.

“We kissed, and only one of us can truly judge how it felt. Does that seem fair to you?” Anders moves towards him at the words, closing what little distance there is between their bedrolls, his face hovering over the elf’s. Fenris just stares as the mage, still grinning, says, “It isn’t; don’t you agree?”

Fenris tries to move his mouth but has no idea what to say.

Ander repeats, “Like I said, it would only be fair,” yet he pulls back, allowing slightly more distance between them. “But I won't force it on you if the thought repulses you.”

Fenris finally finds some words to grab in the mist of his mind. “As I recall, I have only just made clear that it does not.”

“Good,” Anders smirks again. And kisses him.

It is even better than the first time. This time Anders knows it's him, _looks_ at him, plays with _his_ lips, and he is gentle, much gentler than Fenris would have imagined. His soft caresses last longer, like he has all the time in the world. And he does, Fenris supposes, for he will most certainly not pull away, not unless the mage does it first.

The mage does not.

Anders hand comes to rest on the back of his head, holding him in place, but his grip is light enough that the elf could still move away any time. He opens his mouth further, his tongue on Fenris lips, between them and gently coaxing them apart. Fenris does not need any convincing, allowing, _welcoming_ , Anders' tongue into his mouth. The mage is still gentle, but his greed is more palpable now than during their first kiss. Fenris feels it spark a similar greed in himself and when Anders starts exploring his mouth with more insistence, he closes his eyes. The world is reduced to heat and wetness, and this jolt down his spine, but this time of a recurring kind that spreads to every single part of his body. He feels Anders pushing against him, feels himself moving along, slowly lying on his back, the mage so warm next to him. When Anders suddenly pulls back Fenris’ whole body shakes once more - this time with abandonment, a dreadful sense of rejection that takes him over so completely he has to bite his tongue not to cry out in despair, not to beg Anders to keep touching him. But Anders doesn't move away, their lips apart but the mage’s face still so close. He is panting, looking at him with eyes that are glazed and darkened. "Fenris. Fenris...please. _Please_ ". A sound somewhere between a moan and a whine, and Fenris doesn't know what exactly Anders is asking for, but he knows the answer is _yes_. He dares to touch him, a timid hand brushing his shoulder, his hair, and Anders lets out this delicious whine again. A second later, he pushes on top of Fenris, kissing him again, arms pulling him close, and Fenris wants to lose himself in him.

They lie like this, kissing, for how long Fenris cannot say, the mage’s hands in his hair, on his arms, his chest, touching him everywhere he can reach like he can't get enough of him. Maybe he really can’t, Fenris certainly cannot, enchanted by the feeling of Anders' weight, heavy but not crushing, on top of him. The mage’s lips move to his chin, his tongue slowly tracing the lyrium on his throat. He places soft kisses all the way up his neck in the slowest, sweetest torture and brushes his nose against the elf’s ear before he kisses his way down again, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Hot breath tickling Fenris’ skin, Anders murmurs, “Who would have thought…Maker, Fenris who would have thought it would be so good with you...” Fenris does not know what to say, and even if he did, the way Anders’ tongue trails along his jaw would still be too distracting to remember how to speak. Anders' lips are back on his, just brushing them gently. He presses an equally soft kiss on Fenris’ nose before he says, eyes searching for his and sounding much more timid than he usually does, “I...I mean, do you…do you want to…”

The mage’s crotch pressing against him at the words, Fenris knows what Anders is asking for this time. And he wants it. He longs for it. He can do it, he surely can. He meets Anders eyes and nods. “Yes.” _Yes, I do, just please don't hurt me, don't betray my trust._ He has no words for this, just shadows of thoughts, scurrying away like frightened children. He tries to focus on his desire; Venhedis, he wants it so much. Nothing else matters, not even that he never would have thought the mage would be the one to stir this in him. Why doesn't he start touching him again? Why is he just looking at him, brows furrowed? _Why is he moving his face away?_ Fenris said _yes_ \- why doesn't he...? Was this all a joke; was he only mocking Fenris’ longing? But the way he kissed him...and his body says he wants it; Fenris can still feel that very clearly against his hip. He doesn't know what he did wrong, and he is afraid to ask, afraid his voice will betray his weakness if Anders says he doesn't want him. But he can't quite make himself look away either.

The mage's hand is suddenly on his cheek, gently caressing it. "Are you sure you want me here? That yes didn't exactly sound convincing."

At first Fenris fears this may be a ruse, a last trap before the mocking begins, but Anders looks genuinely concerned, biting his lip, eyes flitting all over Fenris' face as if searching for something, as if he is afraid of something too, although Fenris has no idea what that could be - the mage knows what he is doing, every touch of his lips, his hands, and body that of someone experienced, assured.

“I said yes, and I meant it.” Fenris flinches at the tone of his own voice. Why does he always sound so defensive when something truly matters to him? If anything, this will convince Anders less. He looks away, defeated. The mage wanted him. And now he even shows _care_ for him, and all Fenris does is ruin it.

Anders hand is still on his cheek and gently tilts his face back up, forcing the elf to look at him.

“You _said_ yes, but I could feel your body go rigid. We don't have to; I shouldn’t have assumed that just because you enjoy kissing me...Sorry, I honestly thought you wanted it too."

“I _do_.” The words rush out of him in a panic, for Anders is starting to really move away now.

“You basically froze, and the look on your face…I don't think you do. It's alright, you don't owe me anything just because we made out. Or because you feel you have to make up for the other night; that's not the same.”

“It's not that. I am merely...uncertain how one proceeds. I _do_ want it. But I do not know how to properly perform it.” Fenris doesn’t have the strength to look at Anders, but he can _feel_ the mage staring at him; his skin prickles under his scrutiny. The silence seems endless.

“So I am your…first?” Anders finally asks. His voice is soft, no trace of his usual teasing, but it does little to lessen the elf’s embarrassment.

“I...yes...mostly yes.” There is truth in it, although it is not the whole truth. But the mage does not need to know that. No one needs to know that. It is his past, not theirs to poke at, to ogle, and dissect. And it is true in the ways that matter. It _was_ his first kiss.

It’s evident that the “mostly”’ didn’t escape Anders’ notice, but aside from a slightly raised eyebrow, he doesn’t press the issue. It is unusual for him, and Fenris is grateful for it.

“Are you sure you want it with me?” Anders asks, still chewing on his lip.

“Yes. If you are still willing. I understand if this makes it unappealing for you.”

The mage smiles at that. “Not at all. Believe me, _not at all_. But maybe we should take it slow? Just make out tonight and for a few nights after, until you feel more comfortable with me - so you can really be sure? It can be a bit much to take in all at once.”

“I cannot ask that of you.”

“Yes, several more nights of intense snogging with a gorgeous elf, what a sacrifice! Andraste herself would feel shamed by my glorious selflessness.”

Anders’ grin is contagious, and Fenris feels his embarrassment beginning to ebb away. “It would still leave you unsatisfied.”

“Not necessarily, there are many things we can do before we move on to the main act, so to speak,” Anders replies with a wink.

Yes, some of those Fenris is very familiar with. But maybe it will be different when it isn’t his duty? He doesn't think Anders would force him, not after offering to take it slow for _him_ …and indeed the mage continues: “Not right away of course, and only if you want to. And trust me, for now a little snogging is perfectly fine. I’m not all that young anymore, after all.”

“You seemed rather eager before.”

“Well, like I said, you _are_ gorgeous. But just kissing you for hours sounds great too. I haven't had much of that in my life...I could definitely use it too. Not to mention we both have to shut up when we kiss. That should make things more...peaceful.”

Fenris doesn't manage to raise his hand in time to keep the giggle from escaping his mouth. Anders smile seems genuine, and he feels warm just looking at it. This is...strangely comfortable.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new chapters today, as they are both rather short.

The sounds coming from the tent are fairly unambiguous. Good thing Hawke usually sleeps like a bear in winter, the man has enough on his mind, no need to get his pants in a twist over this. Varric shakes his head and gently nudges his crossbow. “Blondie and the elf, who would have known, eh gorgeous?”

Well, he has of course; he sees a lot from his angle. It would have been pretty hard to miss that they both wanted it, at least if you paid attention, and any halfway decent storyteller does. Still, he would never have thought that they’d actually admit this to themselves - let alone each other. He has to hand it to them, those two idiots aren’t quite as hopeless as he thought.

Well, at least for now, who knows how long before this thing explodes and buries them all. _The debris of heartbreak. Two lovers, so alike but blind to it, trapped on different sides of an age-old conflict. Drawn to each other by their aching hearts and hungry loins, yet inadvertently torn apart by old scars, prejudice, and fear._ But who knows, maybe they’ll actually manage. It would be nice to have fewer brooding faces around him once in a while, that much’s for sure. Much more likely they won’t, but well, there is a story to be told either way. And who better to get it right than the trusty dwarf with a heart of gold?

“Don’t you agree, lovely one?”

Bianca most certainly does.


	5. Chapter 5

Just how exactly did this happen? A half-asleep kiss that Anders only dimly even registered and afterwards, the elf behaved strangely – instead of yelling at him for his advances, he avoided him completely, not _one_ angry glare sent his way for days. At first, it was simply confusing. Then Anders uncovered _just how much_ their encounter had affected Fenris and well, he wanted to mess with him - just a little bit! But about a second into a very-awake kiss meant to be only partly serious, any thought of teasing vanished, and all he wanted was _more_ of Fenris. It turned out they were…compatible. Very much so. And then the usually so detached prick allowed a glimpse of how vulnerable he really was, so that for the first time ever, Anders saw the heart beneath all the spite and spikes - a strangely open, fragile heart. Despite himself, Anders was drawn to him.

And now here he is, regularly sharing his bed with an elf who still barely talks to him, but looks at him so openly and smiles so happily when they make out. Which is mostly all they are doing still, because Anders is terrified, terrified he will hurt Fenris - terrified Fenris will hurt him, will leave once they…once he has gotten what he wants. For surely that is all he wants? Anders is a mage, worse, an abomination; Fenris couldn’t possibly consider more with him. Which is fine, really. Anders has been an apostate long (or often, given his frequent recaptures) enough to know that once the flair of novelty wears off, he will be discarded, a thrilling toy for a little forbidden fun but nothing more. He is no naïve apprentice looking for actual affection in a Templar’s quarters, he knows how to take his fun and be gone.

Just that this isn’t simple fun. Fenris is inexperienced; he is scared, no matter how much he tries to hide it, and it was out of genuine concern that Anders suggested they take it slow. Friend or not, he wasn’t going to let him rush into something he might regret the next morning – or worse, during. “Slow” is still a perfectly accurate description of their progress, and that is fun too, but there is also actual intimacy, honest attention. You couldn’t do that in the Circle; it was all quick trysts, quietly communicated, veiled affections at most. Even with Karl, he never got to properly indulge in his feelings - closets, corners, rushed moments of desperate, fumbling passion, hushed whispers in the dorms at night and muted talking in the library, just two apprentices studying – that was all they could steal for themselves under the ever-open eyes of the Templars. It wasn’t enough, and he wasn’t careful enough. They took Karl from him, his boldness to _feel_ a weakness they readily exploited.

As much time as you want, a place for yourself, the world reduced to you and your lover for hours on end - Anders never had that before, and he is amazed how good it feels. As much as wants more, he _doesn’t_. Doesn’t want this to end, Fenris’ warmth, his closeness and care covering his soul like a blanket. For the elf _is_ caring. No matter what happens outside of tent and mansion, as soon as they lie down together all antagonism vanishes, and Fenris is attentive, gentle, so completely _there_. With _him_.

And now Anders is in love. In bloody, fucking love and this was so not part of any plan. Justice disapproves, very insistently so, and Anders can’t blame him. This is a bad idea on just about every level. Not to mention that he doubts Fenris feels the same. He probably doesn’t hate him quite as much anymore, but the thought that he might have come to love him as well is too much of a stretch. The vain hope of a foolish little apostate who still hasn’t learned. He should stop this; he really, really should stop this _now_.

But he won’t.


	6. Chapter 6

What are they waiting for? Or rather, what is Anders waiting for? Fenris is willing. He is ready. In fact, he felt ready right after their first –mutually conscious- kiss; the longing it sparked was all-consuming, and it has only grown since. And yes, everything they do is _good_ and enough in many ways, yet he wants, craves, more.

That does not mean he wasn’t grateful when Anders first suggested they wait – for all his longing, he _was_ scared and not only did the mage notice, he was also willing to take the time to make him feel comfortable. He did not mock or reject him, no, despite his obvious animosity towards Fenris, Anders chose to be patient, chose _him_.

After they first made out, as Anders calls it, way into the early hours of morning, they finally fell asleep next to each other, both of them so glowingly exhausted Anders didn't even turn to extinguish the candles, just sent a little wave of frost magic over his shoulder. The dark enveloped them. Fenris felt the mage's warmth at his side as he drifted into sleep. Right into a nightmare, in which the conversation did not end with _I care, I desire you, I won't hurt you_ , but with the mage, his eyes cold and foreign, saying, “Unused I see? Well, let's make sure we break you in nicely then.” The tender, promising touch was replaced by a merciless grip holding him in place - his clothes suddenly gone and all of him exposed, his body frail, no lyrium in it, no strength. There was a sea of uncaring eyes around him, the faces of his friends, everyone he knew in Kirkwall, regarding him impassively, their hands joining their eyes in clinical evaluation. And then, not wasting time or words on him, they began to...he woke up, his pleas still on his lips, to Anders’ arms around him and the candles alight again.

The mage held him until his shaking subsided, whispering “Shh, it's alright; it was just a dream; you're here; there's light; you're not alone; it can't hurt you" over and over against his hair.

Once Fenris had calmed, Anders moved to look at his face, expression tense as he asked, "Was it something I did?"

Fenris could not shake his head fast enough. "No. This was not your fault." He managed to continue, "Nightmares are not uncommon for me. I apologize for disturbing your sleep."

Anders nodded, still keeping close watch on his face. "I know. I mean, this is hardly the first time we've shared a tent; I've heard you thrashing about and whimpering before, just never quite so violently as this." His voice dropped. "I never dared to wake you, to comfort you before...well, to be honest, most of the times I don't think I even really wanted to. I'm sorry."

Fenris doubted that he would have accepted the mage's aid before, or that he would have known what to do with it. He had never done anything to help the mage with his frequent night terrors either. Comfort was not a concept he was familiar with, and he was all the more grateful that Anders offered it to him so freely now that they were…closer. He slowly moved his forehead to rest against the mage's, lips searching for his. He needed to feel him; words did nothing against the darkness, sharing his breath might. Anders seemed to understand this, his kisses tender and shallow until Fenris finally dozed off in his arms. If the mage extinguished the flames again, it wasn't until Fenris was firmly wrapped in sleep.

It hasn't been the only night like this, for neither of them, and Fenris finds caring for Anders when darkness and sleep leave him defenceless just as soothing as the mage comforting him. The nights they spend together bring so much more rest than the nights he spends alone, although there is less time actually spent on rest.

Does the mage still hate him like he used to? He has been gentler with him lately, not just during their shared moments, around their friends as well. And the way he looks at him sometimes…maybe his feelings towards him aren’t quite as…harsh anymore? Fenris’ feelings have undeniably softened. No, he hasn’t forgotten that as an abomination, Anders is dangerous and not to be trusted, but this knowledge does nothing to change the fact that he _has_ come to trust him, maybe not entirely, but more than he trusts anyone else - even Hawke. The demon may be there, but Fenris no longer believes it is what defines Anders. It has to be remembered and watched closely, but the mage is more than that.

And he is good to him. Whenever they are alone with each other, Fenris feels alive. Real. For as long as he can remember, his body has been this foreign thing, attached to him through agony and imposed patterns, not really his to inhabit. Now it feels like Anders is helping him move in, every kiss, every gentle touch letting him fill it out more, the in–and outside finally beginning to correspond. Not entirely. They might never. But more so than Fenris ever could have imagined.

It happened slowly, the more Fenris began to realize that _he_ had chosen this…and was choosing it still. He owes that to the mage’s scrutiny after his first timid “yes” and he is more grateful than he will ever be able to express. But he is not made of glass, and as much as Anders’ concern touches him, he is beginning to feel irritated by the way he looks at him as if he might break him. So he has made the choice not to wait any longer…or rather, to tell the mage he does not want to wait any longer. For this isn’t really his choice to make, it’s theirs, and if it turns out Anders simply does not want him, there is nothing Fenris can do about it.

But either way, Fenris needs to know. He is strong enough to know. He is not scared anymore. No, that is not true, he is. Less in many ways, more in others. The fear that Anders might reject him after all is paralyzing, but he will not let it let it stop him. He needs this. He wants this.

And if he is quite honest with himself, he wants _Anders_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter leading up to a massive one that will most likely be up by Sunday


	7. Chapter 7

“I want you inside me.”

Anders emits a spluttering cough that sounds faintly like “what” or “whoa”. Fenris thought a blunt approach would be easier, just cutting through their layers of second-guessing and protection right away, as little tip-toeing as possible. However, with Anders staring at him like this, he is not so sure anymore. In fact, he is now sure it was not the best way. Or maybe the manner of approach doesn’t matter, and it is his goal itself that is unwelcome.

“I upset you; it was not my intent. Command me to go, and I shall.”

“Alright, that first statement just caught me by surprise - _this_ is unsettling. I won’t _command_ you to do anything; you’re not my bloody slave.”

An icy heat flashes up all through his body at Anders’ words, sometimes he just can’t help…

“Andraste’s arse, _look_ at me Fenris. How am I supposed to know if you really mean what you just said when you won’t even let me see your eyes? I know I’m past my prime, but I was hoping I still held a little more allure than the floor.”

The joke sounds strained but the mage’s voice is softer now, and Fenris finally dares to meet his eyes.

“That’s better. And for the record, I don’t want you to go. In fact, I very much want you to stay, and I do want to…But you have to admit, considering how we usually spend our time together, one could have imagined slightly more fitting circumstances for this…proposition than you barging into my clinic and _this_ being your first utterance instead of, say, ‘Hello’.”

“I feared if I waited, I would lose the courage to say it. I have several times before.”

“So, this isn’t just a spur of the moment thing?”

“No. I have thought of it often. When we touch, when I feel your skin against mine, it feels…good. I want more of you.”

“You haven’t even seen me fully naked yet,” Anders says, eyes squinting and his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I do not doubt what I’ll find will be impressive, but I am afraid you flatter yourself too much if you believe it will be impressive enough to scare me off.” Fenris smiles, looking up at the mage through his lashes.

Anders chuckles, “Now aren’t you a sweet-talker. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I _am_ rather tall.” The latter is accompanied by an exaggerated wink. “But that’s not what I meant. I’m aware that we’ve _felt_ more than enough for there to be many surprises left, it’s just…aren’t we skipping a few steps here?”

Fenris cannot stop fear from gripping him, once again making his tone more defensive than he would like. “If you do not want me mage, say it. Do not hide behind your so-called care.”

He barely manages to finish before Anders grabs him and presses their mouths together. The kiss is hungry, hard. There still are traces of his usual tenderness, but with something raw underneath, something that also shines through in the mages’ voice when he pulls back and says, “How can you still think I don’t want you? How can you possibly believe that?”

He doesn’t give Fenris time to reply, devouring his mouth instead.

They are standing next to Anders’ desk, his clinic empty this late in the evening. The room is sparsely lit, the few candles cast shadows on the mage’s face when he finally lets go of him. Both of them are out of breath, more than a hint of heat in their cheeks. Anders leans his head against Fenris’ and softly says “I won’t ask if you’re sure again, you’ve made it pretty clear, but if you do change your mind at any point, no matter how far along we are, you’ll tell me, promise?”

Fenris only manages a faint nod.

“Promise me, Fenris.”

“I will.” “Good. And I promise I will stop immediately if…”

“I know, mage.” Fenris touches a hand to Anders face. “I know.”

Anders lets out a shaky breath, a small smile blooming on his face. “Alright, in that case, we should take this to a slightly more comfortable surface. I mean, my desk is hardly appropriate…not to mention that I doubt it could support both our weights.”

“Are you sure that poor excuse for a bed you call your own can?”

“Hey, my furniture is not to be insulted by anyone but me. More of this and I might have to kiss that smug grin right off your face.”

“In that case, let me inform you that your chairs look like they were built by a blind man with a drinking problem.”

 

 

Anders has made good of his threat, kissing Fenris so thoroughly he not only wiped the smile off his face but all clear thought from his mind. While doing so, he somehow also managed to manoeuvre them all the way to the back of his clinic, into the small, curtained-off area he refers to as his “private quarters”. These “quarters” barely have room for anything more than the bed, but right now, that is all Fenris needs. That and the man next to him, who is touching him, gently as always but with much more purpose, and who seems to enjoy the way he makes him squirm.

The mage’s hands are dancing across his body; Fenris tunic lies discarded on the floor. In between drawn-out, almost lazy kisses, Anders keeps dipping his mouth down to his chest. His tongue leaves wet trails on the elf’s skin. His fingers follow their path, mindful to stay clear of the lyrium markings.

“Does it hurt when I touch them?” Anders asked, weeks ago, when he explored his chest for the first time.

“They do hurt, frequently. Touch does not cause additional pain, but I am not fond of it.”

The mage nodded. “Alright, I will try my best to avoid them, then. Is it uncomfortable when I hold you close? I mean, it puts pressure on them…”

“No,” Fenris shook his head, “that feels good. Just…no direct touch. They are there. There is nothing I can do about that. But I do not wish for people’s hands to remind me of their patterns.”

“So no tracing them, got it. But accidentally brushing them won’t hurt?”

“No, that will not cause problems.”

Anders has kept word and never lavished any attention upon the markings; he simply acts like they don’t even exist. Lately, Fenris has been thinking that the mage’s hands are different, that it might also feel different if they followed the lines of lyrium. But he is not yet certain enough to tell him. For now, he prefers Anders treating him like there is nothing abnormal about him, like his body has not been torn open, poisoned, and deformed.

The mage is shifting now. He moves to straddle Fenris, and kisses him deeply. “If you want me out of these clothes, you’d better get to it; I’m not going to strip for you. You’ll have to unwrap this all by yourself,” he teases with a playful bite to the elf’s neck, chuckling at the moan that earns him. He continues, barely more than a whisper, “I want to feel your touch too. I need to know you want me as much as I want you.”

Fenris has no doubt he actually wants him a lot more, but he has no clue how to show him - how to pleasure him, yes, but not how to express his desire for him.

Slightly chapped lips press soft kisses along the harsh lines of his frown. “There is no wrong way to touch me, as long as your hands are on my skin because they want to be there. Just get to know me; explore my body like I’ve been exploring yours.”

Explore…yes, he longed to do this every time Anders’ shirt came off, yet he rarely dared to do much more than move his hands along his back while he held on to him, no matter how badly he wanted to slide them down to his hips, or let them play with the hair on his chest or…He can do this now. Anders has not only given him permission – he has _asked_ him to do it.

Fenris’ hands get to work on the mage’s tunic, and once it, too, has been thrown off the bed, Anders bends down, pressing their bare chests together as he kisses him hard. He _definitely_ enjoys feeling Fenris squirm, he knows perfectly well what this does to him. Fenris grabs the mage’s head in both hands, forcing him to let go off his lips. He looks at him for a moment, presses a last, soft kiss on his mouth, and then proceeds to put his lips everywhere _but_ his mouth. His forehead, slightly more creased now than when they first met, his flushed cheeks, his lovely nose, even his eyes, which flutter close at the approach. His hands loosen their grip and slide down his face, along his neck to his shoulders. His mouth follows their path, pressing kisses on every piece of skin they leave behind. Anders remains perfectly still as Fenris rests his forehead on his shoulder and finally allows his hands to travel down to his chest. The hair that covers it glints reddish in the flickering light, and it feels coarse and soft at the same time when Fenris slides his fingers through it. He brushes against a nipple, and Anders’ sudden gasp sends a shiver down his spine. He moves his finger over it again, delighting in the soft moan that draws from the mage’s lips.

A soft touch, a flick, slightly harder, an instant of contact, prolonged caresses, Fenris tries to remember all the different ways Anders has given him pleasure, tries to make his own hands mimic them, to find out what Anders likes. Soft touches, it seems, not as insistent and drawn-out as he prefers himself. Fenris hands travel further, mapping the mage’s sides – carefully, he discovered he was ticklish early on in their…whatever this is between them – down to his soft belly and the slightly darker trail of hairs that leads towards his trousers.

“Do you mind if I lie down? Sitting might become a bit too much to handle if you keep this up,” Anders asks in between more of his lovely, little moans. Fenris does not answer, just flips them over. Anders lands flat on his back with a _thud_ and a yelp. He grins at the elf hovering over him. “Manhandling, hmm? I’ll be honest, that’s quite arousing.”

“Considering the circumstances, that is fortunate.”

“Indeed. But then, pretty much everything about you is arousing. And your touch feels amazing.”

“And you…feel amazing to touch,” Fenris replies, fumbling for words. As much as his mind screams the words at him, _you are more beautiful than I could ever express; your skin was made to be worshipped, and I want to kiss every single one of your freckles_ just won’t cross his lips. But that he can’t say it doesn’t mean he cannot do it.

He starts with the freckles on Anders’ face and slowly moves down his body, putting his lips to every soft speck on the way. Lone ones, lines, clusters, they form their own patterns on the mage’s pale skin, not as intricate as his lyrium markings, nor as purposefully designed, simply a part of Anders’ nature, one that Fenris wishes he could memorise, a treasure map no one else has access to. And there are still so many other things worthy of attention. He buries his nose in the hair on the mage’s chest and discovers that it does indeed have its own, faint but distinctive smell. He puts his mouth to Anders’ nipples and finds that his tongue is even better suited to make him moan than his hands. Forceful licks, little circles of his tongue around them, soft kisses to his sides, careful bites to the pliant flesh of his stomach, all of these make Anders gasp, pant and, as Fenris notices with satisfaction, squirm.

The occasional wriggle aside, the mage has been lying still, watching him through half-lidded eyes, occasionally letting his head fall back when Fenris’ attentions elicit a particularly deep moan. When the elf’s mouth reaches his navel, Anders hands start moving again, caressing Fenris’ shoulders, his back, his arms, eventually pulling him upwards into a prolonged and very thorough kiss. Their mouths part, and Fenris feels dizzy, his breath uneven against the mage’s face.

“Want to lie down for a bit yourself now? Anders asks softly.

He nods, and the mage turns them around, carefully lays Fenris on his back and straddles him. His hands splay out across his chest as he leans in for another kiss. It is just as hungry as the one before, and it leaves Fenris just as dizzy.

“Ready for more?” Anders cocks his head as his hands hover over the waistband of the elf’s leggings.

Fenris clears his throat, “I…have not yet finished unwrapping you.”

“That’s right,” Anders nods. “No more stalling on my part, I guess.”

“You have removed my trousers several times. Is there a reason why you hesitate to shed yours?”

Anders seems to ponder the question for a moment. Finally he says, “I don’t really know. I guess I just felt as long as I kept them on, I could be certain things wouldn’t get out of hand, that I wouldn’t get lost in what we were doing and move too fast…you know, like a ward. Temptation-repelling-trousers. Does that make any sense?”

“It…does. But why yours? You had no concerns removing mine.”

“Well, for two people, one ward should be enough. I suppose I could have left yours on instead but…well…I really wanted to touch you. Did it bother you? You never said anything.”

“No. I enjoyed it. Yet I felt…selfish. Did you not desire my touch as well?”

Anders snorts, “Do you really have to ask? You may not have taken mine off, but you’ve rubbed yourself against the tent in them at pretty much every opportunity.”

Fenris feels heat rising up in his cheeks.

“That was a compliment by the way, not a complaint.” Anders says with a grin, and a wink. “You’ve got some moves on you; I can’t count the times I had to quickly wiggle away, or things would have gotten _messy_ …If you know what I mean.”

Fenris wanted them to get messy, longed to give Anders release, to see him lose control. But the mage never let him. He still doesn’t understand why; he can only hope he will let him now.

“I do. I also know you are stalling again.”

“Hey, you _asked_.”

“True, but now I’m finished asking.”

Fenris slides his hands down Anders’ back at the words, underneath the waistband of his trousers and, with all the resolve he can muster, that of his underclothes, along the curve of his arse. There’s a sharp intake of breath above him. His eyes lock on Anders’ as his hands begin to explore, to lightly scratch and knead, and the mage’s expression is more than rewarding. As are his little gasps.

“Let’s unwrap you,” Fenris murmurs and Anders nods slowly, untangling himself from the elf’s touch and lying on his back. He unties his laces and lifts his hips to allow the elf to take off his trousers. Only his well-worn smalls remain. The mage is fidgeting, his gaze shifting, never settling on his. Fenris slides his hands down his thighs, all the way to his calves and back up again in what he hopes Anders can tell is meant as an appreciative gesture. He cannot fault the mage for his apprehension; he is sickeningly nervous himself, although he has less reason to – Anders has seen him in nothing but his underclothes several times already, and those never provided much cover for his aroused state. But this feels different.

He brings their lips together in a deep kiss, the warmth of Anders’ mouth, his familiar taste calming him…well, not _only_ calming him, he can’t seem to be able to stop himself from rubbing his crotch against Anders’. The mage, hard against him, gives off a low whimper, fingers clawing into Fenris’ back. Catching a breath between kisses, he stammers, “Can we…can we undress you a little more as well?”

Fenris moves back with a nod and lies halfway on his back. He steels himself with a deep breath and, in one swift motion, pulls down all layers of clothes still covering him. No point in further delaying this, he reminds himself as he, not at all gracefully, wiggles and yanks them over his feet. Still, he can’t make himself look at Anders…Anders, who moves closer and whispers right into his ear, “Now, that leaves me with a bit of a problem – see, I really want to kiss you right now, but I’d have to take my eyes off you to do so…I don’t know that I can manage that.”

At these words, Fenris dares to raise is eyes, and he feels some of the tension leave his body as he sees the mage’s smile. “Maybe…you could use your hands to see?”

“I like your way of thinking.” Anders starts to lean in, then pauses. “Do you want to finish unwrapping me first, or would you prefer we wait?”

Not bothering with an answer, Fenris sits up and pulls down the mage’s smalls, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor. He can’t help staring for a moment as Anders, all of Anders, is laid out in front of him. His long legs look even more appealing now that he can see the way they meld into his hips. Everything about them is sharp and scrawny, pointed hipbones giving way to the softer shape of his torso. He is breath-taking - and hairy, a dense blonde coat covering the entirety of his legs, slightly thinning out above the knees, only to lead to a much thicker, darker patch above and there, flushed and hard…Fenris smiles. Impressive indeed. But not as intimidating as could have been feared for a man of Anders’ height.

The mage clears his throat; apparently Fenris has been staring for a little longer than a moment. “So…eh…are you alright with this,” he moves his arm in a broad sweep over his body, “or is there a problem?”

“No! There is no problem at all. I just…like the view.”

“Weeeelll, I think I remember someone saying something about seeing with our hands - and something about kissing, too. That sounded quite nice.”

“I agree.”

“Good.”

Anders doesn’t even give Fenris time to blink before he shoots up, pushes him onto the bed, and pins him beneath his weight, a smirk on his face as he says, “I can manhandle too.”

And then he kisses him. Naked and hot against his skin, his body seems to melt into Fenris’ – while it also very clearly doesn’t, the friction driving Fenris insane. It is too much, and not nearly enough. His own hands are moving, over Anders’ back, his hair, his arse, his thighs. He hasn’t told them to do this, he couldn’t have; his head feels too clouded, but they seem to have developed a mind of their own. Anders manages to sneak a hand between their bodies and as it brushes against his cock, Fenris whimpers in both shock and pleasure. The mage has caressed him through his smalls before, but this is the first time he feels the touch of his hand with no fabric between them. And Anders doesn’t stop at the light contact, no, he wraps his hand around him and begins to stroke, angling his body slightly away to get a better look at Fenris – or maybe more room to work his hand. He’s moving faster now, tightening his grip, eyes intent on the elf’s face. The pleasure is overwhelming, if Anders keeps this up for much longer he will…

”Mage…Anders…stop…I’m about to…”

It is difficult to find words, even more difficult to string them together.

“Don’t you want to?” the mage asks quietly, but he does take his hand away.

“Not…not yet. Not like this.”

After a deep breath, and another, Fenris slowly finds himself coherent again. The mage does not give him much time to adjust, leaning in for another kiss. Fenris, however, seizes the moment to place his own hand between them now, gingerly acquainting himself with Anders’ cock – “You don’t have to if it makes you feel uncomfortable-aaah” – for just a second, and then immediately sets to pleasure him with precise, drawn-out movements, squeezing just hard enough not to hurt. Anders’ first scream doesn’t remain the only one. Fenris has him panting and rambling wildly within seconds.

“Andraste’s arse, Fenris…you a-a-hha-re…this is…aah…so good…how did…Maker…I can’t…”

Seeing him like this, Fenris understands why Anders was reluctant to stop before. He has to force himself to let go of him in time as well. When he does, he opts for the kiss the mage had to abandon instead. Anders complies, all but collapsing on top of Fenris.

They keep kissing, touching, moving against each other, and Fenris finds himself pulling Anders closer, hands on his arse, trying to steer him. He can’t wait any longer; he needs him to…Anders pulls back and scrambles off him - and off the bed.

"What's wrong?" Fenris asks, alarm in his voice. Has Anders changed his mind - has _he_ done something that made him change it?

The mage smiles and leans over, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Nothing, just need to get something. I'll be right back, promise."

He pads out into the clinic, not bothering to put on clothes. Fenris can hear him, faintly, rummaging through the shelfs at the far end of the room - and then, less faintly, cursing loudly as glass crashes on the floor. The rustling stops and a few moments later Anders steps back through the curtain and re-joins him on the bed, a small bottle of oil in his hand.

"I managed to wreck half of my supplies in the process, but I found what we need."

"What we...need?"

"Well, it might not be an absolute necessity, but it definitely...eases the process. I certainly couldn't do without, and I'd never risk hurting you."

"This is for me?"

"Yes, I mean, it's actually for both of us, but your comfort is the more important part here."

"I…see."

Anders has that intent, questioning look on his face again as he says, "I know this is new for you. Are you sure you want to be the one to...? We can do it the other way round if you'd prefer."

Fenris would be lying if he claimed the thought never occurred to him. It wouldn't have in the past, but with the way Anders has been treating him, he has wondered if he might also agree to...the idea is tempting, thrilling even. But it is not what he wants. He meant what he said when he came to see Anders today. He never would have thought this was something that could be desired, not endured, yet the more his body has begun to feel like _his_ , the more it has started to whisper of possibilities, of sensations yet unknown to him, of pleasure in what he was taught to fear. He has been thinking of little else for days; he _wants_ to feel Anders inside him. He needs to. He needs to know if his body can enjoy it the way his dreams suggest it can.

“I am sure. Another time perhaps, I would gladly try another way.” _To feel you give yourself to me, to take you_...the words still sound too absurd to say. “Tonight...I meant what I said. I want you to…” He pauses for a moment. “If you are willing.”

Anders smiles and places a quick kiss on his lips. “Trust me, I have no complaints about the scenario. I just wanted to make sure you remember this isn't the only option. I'm happy either way.”

He slides his tongue around and inside his ear and grins at the elf s very predictable reaction. Fenris recalls, dimly, that there was a similar grin on Anders’ face when he did this for the very first time, a few weeks after their first kiss, and Fenris let out a sudden, hoarse shout.

“It would seem those ears are quite sensitive. Good to know,” the mage said back then.

After a moment to collect himself, Fenris plucked up the courage to ask him, “Are...are all elf ears like that?”

“I wouldn't know,” Anders smiled this wonderful smile that he seemed to reserve only for these moments, only for him. “I've never been with an elf before - not that I didn't want to or anything it just...never happened. A, well let's say friend, in the Wardens once told me I was an especially alienating Shem, so maybe that's why.” He grinned and bent to kiss his nose. “But in my experience, everyone's a little different. Some humans are just as responsive when it comes to their ears, some show no reaction to be being touched there at all. Some enjoy little bites to their chest as much as you do, others don't want teeth anywhere near them. I'd think it's no different for elves; so I can't tell you if ears are a guaranteed success should you tire of my clumsy human form.”

His smile was not quite so radiant then, and Fenris hastened to kiss him. He did not want to think of ever touching another. Or of Anders touching others. He knew it was foolish to hope Anders would want to stay with him, would settle for someone like him – an escaped slave and an elf, someone he often barely got along with even now. He knew this was only about pleasure, nothing more, but he did not want to think about it. So he kissed him, desperately. They dropped the subject, and Anders continued his ministrations, finding more and more ways to make Fenris moan.

Weeks have passed since then, and the degree to which the mage has come to know his body - a body Fenris still barely feels he knows himself – never ceases to amaze him. Anders has taken the time to explore every part of him. He knows where to use his hands and where to use his tongue, where to kiss and lick to make him gasp and thrash without thought. Somehow, he also seems to know the parts of him he hasn't touched before. He is using this knowledge to drive Fenris mad with longing now, and Fenris certainly isn't complaining. He is just...impatient. And it seems once again Anders has learned to read him, his voice husky near his ear as he says, “Well, let's get you prepared then.”

Fenris doesn't know how he didn't even notice it approaching, but a gentle, very gentle finger is skirting around his entrance at the words, probing him ever so slowly.

“Try to relax; it will be more comfortable. We won't start until you're ready, don't worry.” Anders brings his mouth even closer to his ear and whispers, “Though I won't lie - I'm dying to be inside you.”

Fenris can't help moaning at his words and as he does, Anders’ finger slips inside.

“Mmm, you feel good.” The mage smiles, keeping his eyes firmly on Fenris’.

He moves his finger slowly, carefully, stretching him ever so slightly, gently caressing his insides. Closing his eyes, Fenris tries to relax and focus on the sensation - strange, but definitely not unpleasant.

 

 

His body was right. This is nothing like what he has known before, nothing like what he feared. Instead, it is everything he has hoped for, and more. It is perfect. Despite the clumsy start, with Anders fumbling around, trying to find a position that was comfortable for Fenris, only barely having begun to enter when the elf tensed up, despite the pain Fenris felt at first because he just couldn't stop holding his breath, it is perfect. Because Anders was perfect. He stopped. He was halfway in already, yet at the first scrunch of pain on the elf's face, Anders _stopped_ , ignored Fenris’ "Continue, I can take it" and pulled right out again. He stopped, even as Fenris told him not too.

"Not like this. I don't care if you can _take_ it; I want you to _enjoy_ it."

"I am not made of glass, mage. I want it; it is my choice," Fenris said, voice close to a shout.

Anders wrapped his arms around him then, placing soft kisses on his face. "Yes, it is. And I'm not taking it from you. I very much still plan on having you tonight." He assumed a sultry tone for the last part and bit the elf's neck for emphasis. "It seems you really have no idea just how much I want you, or you wouldn't doubt that. But not while you're all tensed up. You were obviously in pain."

"As far as I have been informed, that is part of the process." Of course it would hurt, no matter what other tempting sensations his body had whispered of, that there would also be pain had never been in question.

"Now that's just utter crap. Yes, it can feel a little uncomfortable and overwhelming at first, but when you're in actual _pain_ something's definitely going very wrong." Anders looked at him with _that_ smile again. "Listen, I know you're nervous, and I get that that makes it hard to relax. I'm not expecting you to start moaning in unbridled ecstasy the moment I enter you, but a grimace of pain is definitely not what I want to see on that handsome face when I'm inside you...or any time, actually."

"Handsome, hmm?" Fenris raised an eyebrow at Anders. The mage had a way of making things lighter, of building a bridge to the playful parts inside him. Even then, when he had felt crushed by fear and failure just moments before, Anders managed to bring out his grin.

"You know you are - you do, right? Well, in case you don't, let me just say that I have never seen a more beautiful sight than you, naked in my arms with a smile on your face...and at that I'd better stop, unless you want to spend the rest of the night listening to me praising your gorgeousness in extensive detail.”

"Well, a little praise is always welcome." Praise for who he is, not for how well he performs.

"I'll keep that in mind. And I will get right to composing ballads about your radiant perfection in the morning. For now," Anders kissed him, a shallow meeting of lips and tongues that felt more like a physically shared smile than a kiss, "let me put my lips on every part of you that is flawless."

It turned out that was every part, even the lyrium, though Anders made a point of not following its pattern with his kisses. The mage took his time with it. He took his time with everything and when he finally moved to enter him again, Fenris did indeed feel more relaxed. There was still some tension he couldn't fully shake, but this time he managed to breathe evenly, and his body seemed to accommodate Anders, not fight against him.

There was no pain. As Anders had predicted, it stung a little, but it didn't actually hurt. And then it started to feel good. And now it feels really good. No, good is such a hollow word for it; there are no words for this feeling. There are no words for the way Anders looks at him, holds him, and moves within him, faster now but still mindful not to harm him, or the way he suddenly wraps one hand around him and strokes him, in rhythm with his movements. Fenris manages to wonder if the angle makes it difficult for him but the thought is subdued, a dim echo somewhere in the depths of his mind. Everything... _feels_. Filled…stretched…a delicious burn…one…Anders inside and all around him. Anders is sharing this with him, this _mage_ , this incredible, wonderful _man_. He doesn’t care about the demon, doesn’t care about anything; he just wants to be with Anders, near Anders, in whatever form the mage will allow, for the rest of his life.

Anders hand abruptly stops moving. His breath catches as his body spasms and his face, turned upwards, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, is the most precious sight Fenris has ever seen. The mage is still panting heavily when he opens his eyes and looks at Fenris. His hand begins to move again, faster than before. Anders keeps looking at him, face flushed and more open than he has ever seen him, and when he whispers "Let go, love. It's alright. Let me see you." Fenris feels himself fall apart and become whole at the same time, all of him pouring into one point of pure bliss. After the eternity of an instant, coming down from a high he never would have dreamed existed, he feels Anders cradling him in his arms, resting his head against him…They are sticky and sweaty, but that doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters but them. He closes his eyes, happy to be right here, in this moment, with this man.

That’s when the memories hit him.


	8. Chapter 8

It happened. What Anders has been so afraid of all this time happened, just like he feared. Or rather, worse than he feared; Fenris didn’t even bother to stay for a second round, left right after the first time they…Anders was almost tempted to think of it as “made love”, but it seems that’s not what they did after all. Fenris claims it was because of all his lost memories resurfacing – and promptly vanishing again mere seconds later. And he _did_ look distraught when he left, his eyes begging for forgiveness and his goodbye a mumbled “I can’t. I can’t.” In that moment, Anders believed him.

Now he is not so sure. Fenris refuses to talk about it. In fact, he avoids him almost completely, and he looks as confused and ashamed as he did after their very first kiss. Was it really just a few seconds of memories that made him leave? Or was Anders simply that bad? Not just an apostate now, an old, tainted, possessed apostate not worthy of anyone’s time. Fenris is gone, but Anders’ feelings for him aren’t. He still loves him, and he finds himself acting like an arse towards him again more and more often. Towards the others, too. He can’t seem to stop; everything hurts, and he wants to hurt everything back – and unfortunate as it is for the people around him, “everything” turned into “everybody” rather quickly.

Their friends don’t know what’s going on- neither he nor Fenris ever mentioned their…physical encounters - but they look as if they are going to hit him if he doesn’t stop this soon. And Fenris is slowly starting to fight back again, not quite as viciously as he used to, but it’s getting there. Just like old times, only with so much more pain.

The worst part is, he still doesn’t know if Fenris deserves it. If the sudden return and subsequent loss of his memories really left him too shaken to be with Anders, as he claimed, or if he just used and left him. In the latter case, being an arse would be more than fitting. In that case, a few itching spells might actually be in order. But if it truly is the first - then he is hurting a man who has been so broken that one moment of intense emotional connection made him collapse. A man he loves, who might even care about him too. In that case, Anders deserves all the beatings his friends’ glares promise - and more.

And yet he keeps doing it.


	9. Chapter 9

Insufferable. _In-suf-fer-able_. Anders has always been a pain in the arse, but this… _that headband keeps it from falling out_. Arse. Unbearable, arrogant arse. And Fenris hasn’t been any better lately, as moody and mopey as when they first met. What is wrong with those two? Not that she’d expect anything else from Anders; he has always been a loudmouth. Although come to think of it, for a few weeks not too long ago, he seemed strangely…different. Calmer, almost friendly, in any case less antagonistic - and _happy_ , if she is any judge.

Well, whatever stick of common decency had hit him, the effect soon wore off, and now he acts even worse than before – and Fenris seems determined to join him in that. Just what she needs, as if keeping Hawke in check wasn’t trouble enough already. Bloody, stubborn fools. She would love to give them a piece of her mind, or a piece of her boot, right where it hurts. If they don’t watch themselves, she very soon just might. How does Donnic put up with it? After all, he plays cards with them every week.

When she asks him about it, he just smiles his infuriating, lovely smile and tells her not to worry.

“Just leave them be, love. I know they are giving you and everyone else a hard time, but I think things are even harder for them.”

“Now that I find difficult to believe.” Blowing her off like that to protect their precious man-nights? She might just have to give him a piece of her mind as well.

“There are some…unresolved issues, I believe.” He seems hesitant, but there is a hint of genuine concern in his voice, and Aveline feels herself soften a little.

“What kind of issues?”

“Nothing of importance, you have enough on your mind as it is.” Now that’s a fake reassuring smile if she has ever seen one. So much for softness.

“You just don’t want to tell me.”

“I know you care, love, but your care tends to be a little…meddling. Like you still have people keeping an eye on Hawke after all these years. I’m not sure those two would know how to properly appreciate that.”

_What_? That’s the kind of talk she expects from reckless fools like Hawke, not her husband. She tries to keep her voice at an even volume, but doesn’t quite manage. “You think I’m meddling? Would you rather I stayed out of your affairs for good?”

Donnic smiles, clearly not all too perturbed by her glare. “No, my love, I married you because I never want you to stop meddling in my affairs. I cherish the way you watch out for the people you care about, even the ones you only grudgingly let into your life. But unless you intend to marry those two as well – which let me clearly state I hope you don’t – that is hardly the point.”

Aveline sighs. Donnic is a good man and a fine guardsman. If he thinks this doesn’t need involvement, she should trust his word, as much as having to sit by idly irks her.

“Fine, have your manly secrets. But if this gets worse and causes real trouble, I will hold you responsible for it.”

“It might get worse, but I am certain any trouble that might arise will only be between them. But should I be wrong, I will gladly let you make me _pay_ ,” he smirks in a way that is incredibly appealing but also strictly inappropriate.

“Not in the barracks, love, you know the rules,” she berates him. Though she doesn’t try too hard to hide the smile underneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of short chapters coming up, so there’ll probably be daily updates for most of next week.


	10. Chapter 10

The elf is in love. That much is obvious. Equally obvious is that he can’t handle the feeling - and that Blondie has no idea. After all, the elf was the one who ran when things got serious. Varric’s coin would have been on the overdramatic, self-hating mage, but maybe the elf just got a head-start. In any case, Blondie is suffering. And alienating the other members of their clueless bunch.

Well, maybe one of them isn’t quite so clueless. Judging by the worried glances she spares both of them, the hopeful smiles when they brush against one another by accident, and the crumbling face when they immediately recoil or insult, the little flower knows more than she lets on. Impressive, really, not even Rivaini has noticed so far, and her ears usually pick up a moan from one city over.

Strange that Daisy hasn’t said anything about it though. Unaccustomed to human society as she is, she usually just blurts out everything on her mind right away, oblivious to the frequently ensuing awkwardness. One can hardly blame her, probably not much intrigue in the woods…or fields, mountains, or wherever her clan used to frolic around. Also, it’s quite refreshing. And hilarious - any storyteller’s dream, really. But unfortunately, not much help with the current drama. If there’s one thing Blondie and the elf _don’t_ need, it’s more awkwardness.

The dwarf sighs.

So it seems it’s up to him to gently nudge them in the right direction. He’d prefer to just observe, to transcribe the story rather than create it, but when the characters behave like blinded, petrified nugs, sometimes the author just has to put his foot down. Good thing Bianca taught him finesse.


	11. Chapter 11

“Why can’t they be happy again?” Merrill wonders with a frown as she watches two of her friends glower at each other - well, reluctant friends that don’t believe in her, but they do spend time with her and sometimes talk to her, and they all follow Hawke together and do exciting stuff, so that does make them friends of sorts, right? She shakes her head as their glowering turns to hissing. They were so happy when they were having sex. She wants to remind them, but she isn’t sure if she can say that. The people in this city all seem so intent on pretending they don’t have sex, even when everyone can tell they do. And Fenris and Anders generally pretend a lot for a lot of things; they might get angry if she mentions it. After all, everyone else acts like they don’t know about it, so perhaps she should too?

Varric is the only one who treats them differently –  he’s _so_ mean to them. They always fight when they are together now; he shouldn't lock them in his suite and "lose" the key. It’s not funny. It makes them sad to see each other, and when they are alone they can't look at anyone else; so they get really sad, and then they get really angry. She can’t understand why Varric wants to make them sad. He's always been so nice to her, but he keeps suggesting Hawke send Anders and Fenris to get firewood together, or to inspect caves together - everyone they meet always tries to kill them; it’s dangerous for them to be alone! Anders almost got eaten by a spider the other day, and Fenris was very cross with him for nearly dying. Surely, Varric doesn’t want Anders to die? They’re friends; he even pays for Anders’ drinks. She’d ask him, but he’d probably just chuckle, compare her to a plant and tell her not to worry.

Maybe she can ask Isabella how to help them? Isabela knows things - she has seen the world and been on all kinds of exciting adventures; she’s had many lovers, and she is _so_ pretty. And she comes to Merrill for advice too…sometimes she even takes it. She actually listens to her; she doesn’t roll her eyes like all the others. They think she is a child, that she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but Isabela never dismisses her. Even when Merrill tells her about the mirror, she listens. She isn’t really interested in the past, and she is not an elf, but she cares because she knows Merrill cares. It makes her feel less alone. Anders and Fenris both seem so alone now - surely Isabela will care about that too. She might even know how to make them happy again. They are so cross all the time, and Anders’ spirit doesn’t like it when Anders is miserable. It confuses it, and a confused spirit is dangerous.

Maybe that's why Anders hardly ever glows anymore. His magic used to be such a pretty, radiant blue; now it’s just a dull flicker and when he casts, she can feel how he shackles himself, as if he’s afraid to use his spirit’s energy near Fenris. Justice must be furious that Anders is hurting, maybe Anders doesn’t want them to meet. He only uses his full power when Fenris isn't around. Someone has to watch out for him, and Merrill will, even if he doesn’t like her all that much and never listens to her. She’s used to that. Nobody listens to her. Nobody but Isabela.


	12. Chapter 12

There’s no denying it: she's falling for her. The first kiss didn’t come easily – every raider knows you don't get involved with members of your crew - but once they had crossed that line, the rest followed quickly, and as it seemed, inevitably. And now she is in an actual relationship, for crying out loud. How did _that_ happen?

Isabela sighs and orders another drink. At least by now Corff has finally learned it’s wise not to ignore her. Wasting time on pondering past decisions and the (much too beautiful) mess you got yourself into, that is unlike her, and it had better stay that way. She needs to take her mind off things. Another round seems like the best way to brighten the mood, and as for further distractions…Fenris and Anders…a much more entertaining mess. One that urgently needs fixing, or soon all of them are going to be propelled across the room by fountains of exploding frustration.

A rich chuckle sends ripples across the thin swill in her tankard. Now that’s an interesting image. Maybe she should just leave them to it after all and watch from a safe distance, preferably with big girl right in the midst of it - try to explain _that_ to Donnic when she comes home. Then again, involving herself in the matter might be…promising as well. Helping those two while also helping herself to a slice of lanky elf, now if that isn’t her brand of selfless. Merrill will certainly agree, though she may be disappointed that she can’t join in. Her Kitten is preciously curious, Isabella recalls with a fond smile. But Fenris is a little too stuck up for that, and since Anders shoved that spirit-stick up his arse, he’s been no fun anymore either.

But in this case, that will work in her favour – a little jealousy never hurts. Hawke implied as much when he revealed the “big secret” about them. That darling fool. As if Kitten hadn’t told her years ago. It was a little unsettling that she had noticed while Isabela hadn’t, but well, she had been quite distracted by Varric setting Fenris and Anders loose on each other all the time, to get more bickering for his book....that was why he was doing it, right? He would have told her if he had known about them, for sure. He knows better than to try his hand at matchmaking without her. You only have to look at his books - he's useless at romance…He’s lucky Bianca doesn’t need much attention.

She would have asked him, assured herself he was indeed not that foolish, but Kitten swore her to secrecy when Isabela explained that confronting the two openly probably wouldn’t work, as much as she liked the thought of doing just that. Both of them were ridiculously private and would just dive back deep into their delectable shells when pressed. Merrill panicked and begged her not to tease them then, “Poor Anders can’t handle any more; he is already so reclusive - and Fenris only just started to make friends!” And Isabela has _actually_ been honouring her wish. Bollocks. She should have known she was in too deep right then – and she hadn’t even had a taste of the soft lips, or caught a glimpse of that porcelain skin yet.

Eugh, next thing you know she'll be taking about heartworms. Poets. Pathetic. She sighs. _Love_. It’s a disease, and she wasn’t careful enough; she caught it, long before she ever took off her clothes. Isabela smiles in a way she will forever deny she is capable of. Kitten possesses magic of many forms indeed. And she cares so much, about history, her clan, her friends…about Anders and Fenris, who can really make it hard to care even for people they _don’t_ treat like dirt. But Merrill doesn’t seem to mind; she still cares. It makes her sad to see them so obviously unhappy. Kitten cares about everyone, without ever judging them. She won’t be sad if Isabela can help it. Surely a little flaunting and flirting will work, especially since “frustrated” is probably a mild term for Fenris’ current state. A little lyrium-lined fill for Isabella, and if Anders falls for the trap and comes to whisk the elf away in his arms, Kitten will be happy again. And her happy purrs are just _delicious_.


	13. Chapter 13

This is getting ridiculous. And they _still_ think he doesn’t know. Of course he does; he works with these fools every day - just how dumb do they think he is? As if they had been quiet back then. No, more like naughty little mabaris, groping each other when they thought no one was looking, moaning shamelessly in their tent, leaving him wishing he could join them so many times...Two gorgeous men and both off limits to him now, not that he isn’t happy for them. Or rather _was_ , things went south soon after and, no surprise there, those two idiots didn’t manage to get back on track. It's been years now, and they are both still so obviously pining...and being dicks about it, because of course they are.

Hawke stayed out of it. He was certain that the ever-meddling dwarf was also aware of their affair and would fix things with his cunning rogue-ic, but Varric turned out to be incompetent. For someone so adept at lying he’s surprisingly useless at delicate manipulation. A whole city full of smugglers, no problem, but two love-struck dumbasses are apparently too much to handle, mastermind that he is. Hawke harrumphs. Granted, these two are rather too thick-headed for subtle nudges...but top-side born or not, don’t dwarves pride themselves on their stone-senses? Would seem he should have been able to get through those granite skulls…

When he realized Varric’s schemes were only making things worse, Hawke considered giving Merrill a hint, yet decided it was too risky. Having her blurt out things could be useful, but you never knew just how or when she would do it. Best she remain unaware.

Bringing the matter to Isabela’s attention didn’t help either. All she did was make a few attempts to get Fenris into her bed - yeah, thanks, Hawke could have done _that_ himself, but _he_ fought the urge to grab that enticing little arse. He knew where its owner’s heart really lay; he wasn’t going to break it - and Anders’ right along – just because he had a drought.

He sighs. “Had” my arse. And who’s he kidding, as if there had ever been any chance of him grabbing anything - Fenris only has eyes for Anders. Which would certainly be useful, were he not so exclusively directing them at his back. Consequently, Isabela’s attempts had no effect whatsoever. There wasn’t even enough of a reaction to at least make Anders jealous. You’d think that would have wounded her pride, but she was far too busy with the elf she _really_ wanted in her bed to care – for yes, she and Merrill are both off limits to him now as well. They are openly, sickeningly in love, and sure, it’s good to see them so happy, but Blight take it, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Listening to Varric’s tales, you’d expect his companions to fall head over heels at _his_ feet, not one another’s.

But no, all _he_ has are idiotic friends who once again need his help, even if they don’t admit it, don’t even trust him enough to bloody _tell_ him - and wrists that get sorer with each frustrating day. He has to see Anders for healing, and that bastard will surely chuckle again, like last time, as if he was in any position to - his idea of telling Fenris he loves him are freaking insults. Not that the elf is any better. He should sic his mabari on them. Not even Aveline’s “courting” was this pathetic, and Maker, that’s saying something.

He sighs dramatically. There’s no one around to see, but the situation simply calls for it. Who made him the leader of their little group again?


	14. Chapter 14

“Do not make light of this. Leaving was the hardest thing I have ever done.”

“I’m not getting the feeling Anders knows that.”

There is a short pause before the elf replies, in a tone of stubborn sadness, “It appears he does not. And it is better this way.”

“Is it?” Hawke doesn’t even try to keep the mocking laughter out of his voice. “Danarius is finally dead, and you still prefer moping on your own to being with the man you love?”

Fenris jaw clenches. For a moment Hawke is afraid he has pushed too far, and the elf will simply fall back into silence, but then he does continue, although his tone clearly signifies “this is the last I will say on this matter.”

“It has been three years, as it appears you well know. I doubt he still cares. And even if he does, he deserves someone better, someone who does not run away like a coward and hurt him. Regardless of what _I_ feel.”

Perfect. Hawke just barely manages to resist the urge to fist-bump himself. This went just beautifully, it couldn’t have gone better if he’d planned it. Well, he _has_ planned this, of course. It’s certainly not his most elegant or elaborate scheme but well, as long as it works… So far, it has, since the elf’s reaction was the most unpredictable element - pretty much everything relied on him actually opening up for once, which was a gamble even in the most comfortable situations, certainly when you casually let slip that his secret love affair wasn’t quite as secret as he thought. Yet by some stroke of luck, Fenris _did_ bare his feelings…Well, at least by his standards. Now Hawke can only hope that Bohdan signalled for Sandal to create another house-shaking “Boom” at the right moment, announcing Anders making his way upstairs. Provided that their timing wasn’t off, the mage should have arrived on the other side of the slightly ajar door right around the beginning of the elf’s grudging confession.

Because that’s the problem with the insecure little children hiding behind all the bravado - they need to _hear_ it. After all the bitterness and rejection they have drowned each other in for years, neither of them is ever going to make the first move without some kind of reassurance that he actually has a chance. A huge banner saying "Yes, he likes you too, dumbass, now fucking go get him" would have been more to Hawke’s tastes, but he figured the information would have to come straight from the source if it was to make it past years of denial and trust issues.

Since some time has passed and Anders hasn’t entered the room so far, Hawke is confident that it worked. Unless the mage turned to check for the source of the noise and is now downstairs with Hawke’s dwarven staff, but he highly doubts that, none of his companions are fazed by Sandal-related ruckus anymore – Fenris didn’t even blink when the floor started to shake. More likely, Anders is right in the hallway, this very moment…

 

…pressed against the wall and taking a deep breath. _The hardest thing I have ever done. Regardless of what I feel._ They are talking about _him_. Why are they talking about him? Did Fenris tell Hawke what happened between them? Why? It doesn’t matter, really…Fenris cared. _Still_ cares. From the sound of his voice…maybe more than “cares”? He wouldn’t lie to Hawke, would he?

Anders feels dizzy, the desperate hope he thought he let go for good suddenly gripping him again. _Deserves someone better._ Like Blight he does, there is only one person he wants, and he wants to storm in there and tell him exactly that. But he can’t. If Fenris finds out he has been eavesdropping, he will immediately close up again, doesn’t matter that Anders didn’t do it on purpose. The elf’s trust is a volatile thing. Plus, Hawke is in there as well, which will certainly make any attempts at reconciliation impossible. After all, he keeps pressing the issue with Fenris now, even though it is obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it. Not that Hawke doesn’t mean well, but subtlety is definitely not his strong suit. As much as he wants to, Anders cannot bring up the matter right now - or ever, actually. It’s not like he has any idea how to broach the subject with Fenris in any other situation either.

Finally, a sign that there might still be a chance for them, yet no way to act upon it…and Fenris said it was “better this way”. Did he mean better for Anders, or does he simply not want him back after all? A sign, but still no certainty… Anders is at a loss as to what to do – Hawke is expecting him, but just barging in there _now_ , while they are still talking about him, might look suspicious.

He waits a few more moments, then tiptoes back to the stairs, takes a few steps downwards and proceeds to make a show of stumbling loudly, and even more loudly blaming it on “Bloody dog, always in your way, useless slobbery pseudo-pets.” Hopefully, it’s safe to go in there now.

Two warriors look at him with broad grins as he enters. One grin is a little strained, not surprising given their prior subject. The other is oblivious and amicable as always, just Hawke being his good-natured self, albeit scolding him a little for insulting his dog, “If you manage to trip over something as big as Falcon, it’s probably best you _don’t_ have a cat.”

 

Of course the little shit didn’t trip, the dog is locked in the library, out of range of any possible “Boom” side effects. But nice move and nicely lied, at least by Anders’ poor standards. It seems inviting them both here was the right idea after all. Time for a change of location.

“So, now that we’re all here, who’s up for creating some spider-stew? The Bone Pit’s overrun again. Isabela’s meeting us there. If we hurry up and get it done by nightfall, I’ll throw in some food for your scrawny arses afterwards.”

 

The stew (hopefully spider-free, though you can never really tell with this mystery meat) is good. Hawke has kept word, and Anders is stuffed like he hasn’t been in days, feeling sleepily content in the noisy room. Fenris seems to enjoy himself as well, joking with Isabella about…something. Anders hasn’t really been paying attention, still a little rattled by the day’s revelations.

“So, how are you and Merrill?” Hawke interrupts their banter between spoonfuls of stew. “I heard there was a bit of a fight going on? Everything alright again?”

Isabela sighs dramatically, but can’t hide the smile underneath, “Yes, Kitten’s come around. Old habits are hard to break and well, Zevran’s a particularly _enjoyable_ habit. But she was right, I should have at least asked her to join in. She found it very rude that I didn’t. So really, it’s your fault for not bringing her along in the first place.” She stabs a playfully accusing finger at Hawke.

“She’s been avoiding her clan as much as she can since Pol’s death; I’m trying to be respectful here,” Hawke protests.

Isabela snorts, “Now that would be a first. Not that I mind, respectful is just so painfully dull.”

“Wait, what, you cheated on her with some stray assassin, and she just forgave you right away?” Anders can’t keep himself from interrupting them. “I know you’re usually just skin-deep, but with Merrill…I actually believed it was love.”

He shakes his head. Poor Merrill. They may not agree on everything but this…

Isabella shoots him an amused look. If he angered her, she sure hides it well. “It is, darling. And Merrill and I agree that love should be a soft scarf that ties, not rigid chains that bind. That my heart lies with her is no reason my body cannot occasionally lie with others, and the same goes for her. She is much too precious to keep her locked up for myself. But we also agreed to talk about everything first, and I didn’t – that’s the problem with meeting old friends; you get caught up in the moment. She had every right to be upset about that, but trust me, we _did_ make up, so don’t worry your pretty, giant head about it.”

Well she…has a point, he assumes. There was a time when Anders actually felt pretty much the same way. Not that he necessarily thinks she’s wrong now, it’s just that somehow, since Fenris…The mere thought of someone else touching the elf makes him sick, which is pretty pathetic, even more so as it has been years since _he_ actually touched him but...

“Wouldn’t you forgive someone you love? If a man, or woman, you love made a mistake, wouldn’t you forgive them? Or would there be an expiration date to this forgiveness?” Hawke interrupts his thoughts.

Huh? That’s unexpected, how…”an expiration date”…why would he…Andraste’s scorching underclothes, he knows! The realization takes a moment to hit him, but when it does, it’s at full force - Hawke _knew_ that Anders was listening in on them when he prodded Fenris to talk about their situation…which he clearly already knew about as well…That conniving bastard! And now Anders can’t even indulge in the righteous anger he is entitled to, since Hawke is so clearly offering him a chance to tell Fenris how he feels without having to put the elf on the spot. A chance Anders has to take, even though his mind is still desperately fumbling for what to say.

“No, you’re right. When it comes to the man I love, I would forgive everything. No matter what mistake he made, no matter how far he strayed, or how long it took for him to find his way back to me,” he pauses for a moment, but forces himself to continue, “no matter how bad things got between us, as long as he loved me too, it wouldn’t matter. I would forgive him and welcome him back into my arms.” Alright, that may have been a tad too melodramatic, maybe better to end on a slightly less heavy note. He smiles at Isabela. “And you’re right too - love is worth more than a technicality. I shouldn’t have judged.”

Isabela doesn’t bother commenting on that, too lost in chuckling “ _He_ , eh?” with a very pointed look at Fenris.

Fenris, who has turned crimson right up to his ears, and looks equally pointedly at no one as he mumbles “Forgiveness is a rare thing. Few dare to hope to be truly granted it.”

At that, he pushes off his chair, grabs their tankards, mumbles some more about “refilling” and heads for the bar without looking back. Isabela’s still chuckling, whereas Hawke throws Anders his widest grin, leans in casually and says, in the loudest whisper ever witnessed by mankind, “Spoken like a true poet. And I’d say message received, if my humble opinion is of interest.” His grin widens even more as he continues, “But next time, try not to drag my poor dog’s name through the mud for your distractions. You grew up Ferelden; you should know better.”

He underlines his words by placing a hand in front of his heart in dramatic mockery, and as much as Anders knows he should be grateful, he also wants to fireball him where it _hurts_.


	15. Chapter 15

Fenris is sitting in the back of the Chantry, obviously waiting for him to notice and take a seat next to him. Sebastian is always happy to welcome him here, yet he rarely used to visit. That has changed since Danarius’ death. Fenris has changed since then, too. He seems more hopeful, but often lost in thought, that blossoming hope still somewhat restrained. He asks a lot of questions, about forgiveness, responsibility, what it means to be a free man and live your own life…and how to welcome others into it. Lately, a lot about love. He seems to be struggling with the concept of sharing your life with someone and still having it be your own. There’s also the odd blushing inquiry about the physical aspects, but for the most part, Fenris tries to soak up any information on the inner workings of relationships and the proper way to court someone he can give him. Sebastian doesn’t mind, though he worries he may not be the best person to answer those questions. Yet if you look at their other friends…maybe he is not such a bad choice after all. And if the knowledge gained in his errant past can help a searching soul find peace, the Maker will surely forgive his indiscretion. He doesn’t know if Fenris really believes; he doubts the elf knows himself. Still, he will gladly provide whatever help he can.

Matters of the heart may not exactly be Chantry territory, but it is the will of the Maker to offer guidance to those who are lost, and Fenris clearly does feel lost. Lost and, as it would seem, in love. Sebastian has no idea which lucky soul has won the elf’s well-guarded heart, yet he is sure Fenris chose wisely. Just as he is sure the elf will treat them well, once he has found the courage to proclaim his love. His questions clearly speak of care and concern; he will make a devoted husband to whichever fair creature has caught his eye.

He knows it is unbefitting to give himself to idle speculations - but surely an interest in a friend’s well-being is understandable? He does wonder who it could be. Someone from the alienage? Fenris doesn’t really spend much time there, if any. Someone he met in Hightown? Not very likely. Sadly, few humans of standing consider elves as partners, and the Chantry does little to improve the situation. (Would it help if he brought the matter to her Grace’s attention?)

So where _did_ Fenris meet them? There aren’t many options. The elf is a very private person; he rarely sees him outside of their adventures with Hawke and their talks in the Chantry. Perhaps at the weekly card games? Sebastian only attends those sporadically, as much as he enjoys the company of his friends, their conversations tend to quickly take an _inappropriate_ tone. Not to mention that gambling is the sort of questionable diversion a brother of the Chantry should not make a habit of. Maybe this is really where Fenris met them, though he cannot recall ever seeing him engaging with any of the staff or the other patrons. The elf is usually too busy arguing with that preposterous maleficar. They have been debating more and more obsessively over the years, and Sebastian would rather Fenris spend his time in less condemnable company - Anders is a heretic and a dangerous apostate. Why the usually so sensible elf refuses to turn him in to the Templars – and even secretly threatened him, with unusual vitriol, that he’d better not think to do so either – Sebastian cannot fathom. Maybe their arguments are a welcome distraction from his solitude. In that case, having a partner in his life will surely make Fenris lose interest in them. Even better if finding love keeps him away from such a dubious influence.

He turns his attention back to his friend, who seems as lost in thought as he was. As much as they both enjoy their conversations, they can also simply sit together quietly, something that Sebastian has learned is rare, and which he greatly appreciates. Yet advice is best given in words, so he gently interrupts the elf’s thoughts.

“It is not the Maker’s will that we suffer in darkness when the light of love exists to guide us. So long as we pursue it faithfully, with respect and devotion to ourselves, our partner, and the Maker, he will give us his blessing. And he also blesses those who show courage, so I hope you find the strength to make your love known. There is nothing to fear, Fenris. Freedom is a challenge; love is a challenge. But look at all you’ve accomplished. You are now free of any master. Maybe it is time to live like it. The Maker will surely look fondly upon such an endeavour. I know you don’t believe it, but I still doubt he had no hand in breaking your chains.”

Fenris remains silent for a long moment, then nods, slowly and firmly, resolve settling on his face.

“No, I do not believe that. But you are right - it is time to stop running. Thank you. I will think closely on your words.”

And with that, he gets up and makes his way towards the exit, his steps those of a man who knows where he is headed. Sebastian watches him, smiling fondly. His friend has come a long way indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got another longer chapter coming, which will probably be up on Monday.


	16. Chapter 16

The door creaks as he pushes it open. Behind it, the clinic lies quiet; Anders rarely has patients this late in the day. Specks of dust drift through the air, no visible pattern to their movements. Fenris, however, has come here for a purpose. He can see the path his feet will have to take to get him to it right in front of him, yet he remains frozen at the entrance, taking in the form of the man at the desk.

Anders has not yet noticed him, which should be surprising given the noisy door, but really isn’t. He is busy with his ever-changing manifesto and as with everything he feels passionately about, the mage is completely absorbed, all but blind and deaf to the world around him. Once, Fenris envied Anders his dedication. Now, he is grateful that it is a part of him, that he allows himself to care so much and when he mocks for him for it, there’s a smile hidden beneath the teasing, a warm feeling in his chest at the mage’s energy, the glow on his face.

At the moment, his face looks more tired than glowing, an air of exhaustion about him as he hunches over his desk, scribbling away, almost exactly like he did three years ago. Back then, Fenris chose boldness, stormed in like he had nothing to lose. And then he lost it all. Now he has everything to gain, nothing to be afraid of, nothing left to lose - nothing but that delicate piece of hope that he, against all better judgement, has kept alive for all these years. He has tended to it, nurtured it with dreams of what might be, sheltered it from the storms’ of the mage’s anger and every time it began to whither, he let his memories shine their light on it, enough to keep the battered little thing fighting. Fighting through all the years he should have apologized, all the times he did not know what to say, did not feel ready, the times he was sure it was too late, that Anders hated him again, had forgotten what they had shared – or had never really cared, the times he told himself he deserved his hate. Maybe he really does deserve it, but he is a free man now, and a free man should not be a coward. Anders is still the only one he wants. The one he sees when he closes his eyes to sleep each night. The wish he made when his former master finally lay dead at his feet. Hope, this brave, persistent thing, has carried him this far. He does not know if he can bear to see it crushed, to feel its stubborn roots being ripped out of him for good. But he does not know for how much longer it can survive either; there is only so much light within him. _When it comes to the man I love, I would forgive everything_. He hears the words in his mind every time he looks at Anders. And also when he doesn’t, when Anders isn’t even in the room. Do they mean what Fenris so desperately needs them to mean?

“Fenris?”

The mage has spotted him.

“I…may I come in?”

“Of course, you’re always welcome here. I was hoping you knew that.”

Fenris doesn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Anders relieves him of the burden of answering.

“But I haven’t really been doing my best to let you know that have I…Please, come in. Is there something I can help with? I haven’t seen you since…for quite some time.”

“I have been thinking. In fact, that is why I’m here.” Fenris finally enters the clinic, making sure to lock the door behind him. This is private.

“Do you want to sit down?” Anders gestures towards the small wooden chairs in the corner of the room. “I can make some tea if you want.”

“Thank you, that is unnecessary. I would prefer to remain on my feet for this.”

He is at the desk now; the mage has stood up to face him. Every part of Fenris feels tense and, although he cannot be sure, a similar tension seems to radiate from Anders. He can only hope it is for the same reason, not because Anders secretly wishes for him to leave. It does not matter either way. Fenris has to ask.

“We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago.”

There is a hint of a nod as Anders replies, “No…but since you just stopped talking to me altogether then, I figured you didn’t want to.”

“I felt like a fool. I knew you hated me, and I knew I deserved it. I thought it was better this way. But it wasn’t. It was merely easier.”

“I did not hate you, Fenris. I was just…hurt.”

“Hurting you was the last thing I meant to do. I owe you an apology. And an explanation.”

“You said you regained all your memories for a split-second and then immediately lost them again.”

It is as much a question as a statement. At least the mage remembers. Maybe that will make it easier to explain how much the experience tore him apart. If it can be explained at all.

“I did…I could recall it all for a moment and then…it was too much, I…”

“Then there is no need for further explanation,” Anders interrupts him. “I understand. I mean, I know I cannot really grasp how overwhelming that must have been, but I get that it would be too much to bear. And I _did_ understand that the moment you told me; I was just…too afraid. Afraid it was just a lie, a convenient way to dump me, afraid you had only used me, that I wasn’t good enough, and you just wanted to get rid of me.” His voice is soft as he continues, “I couldn’t shake that doubt. And over the years, it only got worse….I’m sorry; I didn’t handle it well. You have nothing to apologize for. It was too much too soon.”

“I did not use you.” Fenris doesn’t manage more than a whisper. “It was better than anything I could have dreamed.”

“So you…don’t regret it?” Anders' voice isn’t much louder than his.

“No.”

“Good.”

There is a long pause. Even the dust seems tense now, as Fenris finally asks the question he came here for, the words leaving his mouth in a slow, uncertain trickle.

“A few weeks ago, in the Hanged Man…you said you would forgive…someone you…can you forgive…me?”

“There is no need to.”

“I see. I should not disturb you any longer.” Fenris turn towards the door. He needs to get away before he loses control over his face, before – a hand pulls him back. Two hands spin him around.

“Fenris! I already told you, you did nothing wrong. You were right to take care of yourself first. You don’t have to ask for forgiveness - if anything, I hope _you_ can forgive _me_. You were confused enough without me making things even harder for you. But if what you’re really asking is if I was talking about you, whether you are still welcome in my arms…I meant every word. As long as you still…care about me, they will always be open. For _you_.”

Anders eyes are boring into his, his hands still gripping his shoulders. And hope, finally crushed as he thought it was, is in fact still there, no longer tattered and timid, a radiant hum that echoes through his mind. It makes it hard to think, but his body does not need his mind, moving on its own accord, wrapping itself around the mage. His lips find Anders’, back at last where they have longed to be all those years, and every part of Anders moves accordingly, opening himself, his arms and mouth for Fenris.

 

 

The kiss does not nearly last long enough. Anders is the one who pulls back, carefully, hands brushing through the elf’s hair in an absent-minded gesture, a smile of disbelief on his face as he whispers, “Fenris…Fenris…”

“That is my name, mage.” Fenris’ smile is so wide that it hurts. It is a pain he will gladly live with.

“You’re back. You’ve come back to me; I didn’t dare hope…You’re back.”

“And I did not dare to hope you would take me back.”

“Like I said, anytime. Though I’d prefer it if you never left again in the first place. I’m not all that good at dealing with rejection.”

“I never would have guessed.”

“Very funny.” The mage’s smile falters a little as he sucks in his bottom lip. “By the way, do you?”

“Do what?” Fenris asks.

“Forgive me.”

“I left you naked in your bed, shut you out completely after we had been so close. You had reason to be angry. I hurt you. You do not have to ask for forgiveness.”

“I was an arse,” Anders states plainly.

“I’m afraid that is simply a part of your personality, mage.”

“Hey!”

Fenris smirks at the mage’s offended tone, “I did not say I didn’t like it.”

“Well, you had better like it, I am yours after all,” Anders replies with a huff.

“...Mine...”

There is a broad grin on Anders’ face as he says, “Yes. Weren’t you aware of that?”

“It is…an unknown feeling.”

“A good one I should hope?”

“Yes.” A smile that slowly spreads. “And in case you are not aware, I am yours as well.”

They are still standing next to Anders’ desk, almost exactly where they stood three years ago, when the mage said “yes” as well, and everything feels equally wonderful, no, even more so – this time, he said “yes” to all of Fenris. Neither of them feels ready to move yet, content to just hold on to the other lightly, taking in his smile. Anders’ gaze falls on his manifesto and as he notices Fenris’ following, he sighs, “It’s not going to be easy for us, is it?”

“No,” Fenris has to agree.

“But you’re willing to go for it anyway?”

“As long as you are willing to walk at my side, yes.”

“I am. Always. Through everything.” Anders’ smile is addictive.

But there is still an issue that needs to be discussed, something that Fenris has been wondering about since that night at the Hanged Man.

“Anders, I need you to know…I want chains. I am aware that I shouldn’t, that it does not make sense, but I want our…our bond to be chains. Binding only the two of us. No one else.”

“It does make sense to me,” Anders replies, “and I feel the same way.”

Fenris nods but apparently doesn’t manage to hide that he still feels unsure, for the mage continues, “For me, that’s already how it is; I am yours, and yours alone. No one else gets to touch me.”

“That night at the Hanged Man, you said Isabella was right.” Fenris hopes this doesn’t sound like an accusation. It isn’t, but he needs to make sure Anders is not just agreeing to this for his sake. That he is not forcing chains on another.

Anders seems to understand, or at the very least not be offended. “She is right. For herself, and for Merrill. But people need different things, and what works for them wouldn’t work for me. It’s not what I want…it might have been, when I was younger, but things happened; Karl happened; _you_ happened – nowadays, orgies with mysterious strangers just aren’t my idea of fun anymore.” He starts to grin as he rambles on, “At least when it comes to actual _action_. Fantasy-wise that's an entirely different matter.” He presses a quick kiss to Fenris lips. “That goes for you too of course, you can _imagine_ whatever you wish, so long as the only one you actually do it with is me.”

“Being touched by random people is certainly not a _fun_ fantasy,” Fenris harrumphs.

“It can be,” Anders says, searching his gaze and holding it. There is an odd intensity to the way he keeps looking at him, to the way his hand suddenly cups his cheek. Fenris feels his breath catch in his throat. Anders knows. He knows - but he doesn't say it. And he doesn't force Fenris to say it either. He just pulls him close, shielding him with his body as he buries his nose in Fenris’ hair and presses gentle kisses all over it. Anders knows, and it doesn’t change things. He is still here, still looks at him like he did before. He doesn’t force all of Fenris’ scars out into the open; he simply holds him close. Yet as much as Fenris wants to leave this topic untouched, there is one question that needs answering. He keeps his face pressed against the mages’ shoulder as he whispers, “Have you known the whole time?”

Anders’ reply is equally hushed, “No, it took me a while. It wasn’t until long after you left that I...But I should have known. I could feel something was off right from the start, the way your body reacted, your trepidation, your dreams… I never bothered to really think about it; I was too busy enjoying…and even when I finally realized, I still kept treating you like - I failed you. I’m sorry...”

“You did not,” Fenris cuts in, still incapable of looking up. “You noticed my hesitation, took the time to make me feel safe. There was nothing else you could have done for me. I did not want to talk about it. I still don’t.”

“I know,” Anders says, his mouth still against his hair, “and I'll never push you to. Your past is yours, you do not owe me any details.” A gentle kiss is pressed to the tip of his ear. “But know that if you ever do want to talk, I’m here. Nothing you could tell me will ever change the way I feel about you. And if you never want to talk about it, that will not change my feelings either.”

There is an odd, prickling sensation behind Fenris’ eyes. He isn’t sure if he can fully believe Anders, but he knows a part of him does, and the rest is willing to try to follow. But there are other things in his past, things that might indeed make Anders feel differently, that prove many of his old insults true. What had been done to him did not change the way Anders looks at him. But what about the things _he_ did? Would Anders still want him if he knew how dark his dark parts really are? If he...talked?

He pulls away but keeps his face down. “I have never told you the story of my escape. Do you want to hear it?”

“Of course I do. But you don’t have to tell me...”

“I do.” Fenris takes a deep breath. “Where to begin…I got separated from Danarius during an attack on Seheron. Or rather, he had to leave me behind when the ship I had managed to get him to –remember, I was his bodyguard - had no room for a slave.”

“That sounds much less complicated than I would have thought…”

“That’s because I wasn’t finished. Not with this story, and not with my escape. I had no intention of escaping then. But I was suddenly alone, with no way of knowing when Danarius would come back for me. I was wounded, weak. I might not have survived if I had not stumbled across a group of rebels, Fog Warriors, natives of the island that fight for their freedom – against both the Imperium and the Qunari. They took me in, nursed me back to health. Afterwards, I stayed with them. And for the first time ever, I felt as if I truly lived.”

“It sounds like they were your friends.”

“I…back then, that term held no meaning for me. And even looking back now…I was in awe of them. They were unlike anyone I had ever met, neither like slave nor magister – bold and strong, yet also honest, free with their affections. Maybe they saw me as a friend, but I saw people I admired, to whom I owed everything.”

Fenris pauses, unsure how to continue, almost hoping for Anders to interrupt him again. When he doesn’t, he sighs, “It wasn’t to last, of course. After a few months, Danarius finally came for me. It should have been the end of my freedom, as I always knew it would be. But the rebels – they refused to let him take me.”

Another pause and again, Anders doesn’t say anything. Fenris forces himself to keep talking, the words coming to him slowly now.

“He ordered me to kill them. And I did. I killed them all.” Still no interjection, no change in Anders’ face, just patient waiting. Fenris has no choice but to keep talking, the horrors painted by his words flashing before his eyes. “It felt inevitable. My master had returned, and this fantasy life was over. But afterwards…I looked down at their bodies and I felt…I couldn’t. I ran. Danarius had been wounded by the rebels. It took weeks for him to recover, so by the time he began his hunt for me, I was already far enough away to…keep running. And I did. I ran until I met Hawke. And you.”

Fenris falls silent and waits for the mage to speak. Awaits judgement. It might be over again before it even started.

“Fenris…I am so sorry.” His voice sounds sincere, Fenris can discern no condemnation in in. But he knows it must be there.

“I acted like the vicious killer you so often accused me of being. You were right about me. I am a monster.” Maybe if he says it like it is, Anders will do the same.

But all Anders does is smile, a small, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. His voice is still as gentle as before as he says, “No, you are not. You are a human, _elven_ being - Maker, our language is biased, I never noticed - a _person_. A person that had never been allowed to see himself as such. How could you not have obeyed when that was everything you had ever been taught? Without the glimpse of freedom these rebels gave you, you would probably never have found it in you to run – not because you are weak, don’t think that, but the mere idea would never even have occurred to you.”

“They saved me. I killed them, and then I ran. I am free, and they are dead.”

“But they weren’t your victims, Fenris, they were Danarius’. _He_ murdered them, using you as his weapon. Their fate is horrible; there is no justice in it – and believe me, I should know. Yet even though you wronged them, you have been honouring them every day since by making them the last victims Danarius slayed through you. It ended with them; you stopped Danarius from ever wielding you again.” Anders has become more agitated with every word, but he slows down as he continues, “And one last thing - I’m not trying to dismiss what you did, but tell me honestly, if you hadn’t obeyed Danarius and had joined them to fight him instead, could you have won? Or forget winning- could they have survived?”

“No.” Fenris has always known their fate had been sealed the moment they dared to defy Danarius. Even heavily injured, he could have slaughtered most of them with a single spell; his soldiers would have taken care of the rest. Had Danarius not wanted his lyrium intact, his spells would have just as easily killed Fenris before he even made it out of the camp. However, this knowledge does not change the facts. “But they would have died fighting, not slaughtered by a traitor.”

The sad little smile is back on Anders’ face. “Like I said, I’m not denying what you did. But to really be a traitor, you have to be able to make your own choices, and your whole life had been defined by the very fact that you had no right to choose.”

“You…are more understanding than could have been expected.”

“I could say that affection makes you see things differently but even aside from that…I am in no position to judge you.” Anders chuckles, “I know you won’t like the comparison, so I’ll keep it brief, but there’s a reason so many Circle mages who manage to flee are quickly captured, even when their phylacteries have been destroyed – their whole life, all choice was taken from them and outside in the world, they don’t know how to function. I didn’t either. I had no idea how to find my own way; I kept getting caught.” His face takes on a morose expression. “And as for personal guilt, when I finally managed to stay free, I betrayed the people who helped make that possible - I betrayed the Wardens. I know I don’t talk fondly of them and well, Darkspawn and Deep Roads are indeed not exactly things that inspire fondness, but the Warden Commander was my friend. I had a few other good friends there too - I mean, one of them literally became a part of me - but she really was something special.”

He seems lost in memories for a moment. “Actually, practically the first thing she did when we met was save my life. I was on the run and got caught, once again, but this time the Templars that captured me were killed in a Darkspawn attack. Being the only survivor, I was branded a murderer and to be executed by the Templars. The Warden Commander intervened and used to right of conscription to save me – she had not witnessed the attack either, but she _believed_ me. And if you think that was nice, she was also the one who gave me Ser Pounce-a-lot! Really, she was a good friend. She wasn’t a mage but she despised the Templars almost as much as I did, even attacked them when they came back for me.”

“They kept hunting you after you became a Warden? Didn’t you say that Warden mages don’t fall under Circle rule?”

“They don’t, but for all Templars love to enforce rules, they are pretty lousy at following them.” Anders sounds bitter, and Fenris instantly regrets the slightly accusing tone of his question. It is still a sensitive topic, it probably always will be, but he didn’t mean to affront Anders. Certainly not today when they are finally…

The mage continues, “To answer your question, yes, they came back for me. I guess they just hated that I was ‘the one that got away’, especially after all my prior attempts. When outright attacks failed, they sent a Templar to infiltrate the order. He kept watching me, trying to find reasons to accuse me of blood magic. They set a trap, and when Justice and I merged…I’d rather not go into the details, but it’s the reason behind that scar you’ve all been wondering about. It’s also the reason for several dead Templars and Wardens, mangled beyond recognition. And the reason I ran away, blindly, from the Wardens, from a friend who had always had my back, with no goodbyes or explanations. Believe me when I say, between the two of us, I am the bigger monster.”

Fenris recognizes the look on Anders’ face. It’s the same anxious awaiting of judgement he went through after his confession. But Anders’ body count is not what is on his mind right now.

“That scar…I have always thought it looked as though the corresponding wound should have been…fatal.”

Anders nods, “It would have been, if not for the burst of energy from merging with justice just moments before. It went right through my chest, by all means, I should be dead.”

Fenris pulls him close. He presses their bodies together and holds him as firmly as he can. It isn’t nearly enough to soothe his rage or the tightness in his throat, but it is all he can do.

“I am glad you killed them then.”

Anders returns the hug, but he feels tense in his arms. “If I hadn’t merged with justice, it might not even have gone that far…”

“They went as far as infiltrating the Grey Wardens to get to you - they would never have let you go. One way or another, they would eventually have killed you. If not for your dem…spirit, you would not be here today.” The thought is unbearable.

“Did you just say something nice about Justice?” His voice is still strained, but the familiar note of haughty mockery that is so _Anders_ makes Fenris smile nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He pauses for a moment, considering his words. “But I believe I am beginning to understand why you felt you had to…let him in. That does not mean I think it was the right decision, or that I do not fear what he might do to you.” Anders tenses further in his arms and Fenris hastens to continue. “I will not turn from you. I remain at your side, Anders. Whatever is within my power to keep him from harming you, I will do.” He sighs. “And I will not forget how he protected you either, though that is still difficult to…reconcile.”

Anders pulls away to look at him. “You’re saying…you will…I…Thank you. You have no idea what it means to hear you say that.” After a moment, he adds, “And thank you for telling me about your escape. I know it must have been hard to talk about this.”

Fenris has to ask, he still can’t quite believe Anders forgave his actions without even a moment’s hesitation. “You really did not know about it? Hawke didn’t tell you?”

“No…? So…Hawke knows the story…”

“I…told him, a few years ago. It was the anniversary of my escape. I needed someone to talk to and back then, he was the one I felt closest to. I…I apologize.”

“No need,” Anders says with a smile.

“Yes, there is.” Fenris takes a deep breath. “It was shortly before it, before we happened when I still believed…Fasta vass…”

Anders’ voice is calm as he interrupts him, “When you believed it would be him.”

“You…are not angry?”

“Because you had a thing for Hawke, once, before you and I would have even considered _looking_ at each other without disdain?” The mage chuckles. “I can hardly blame you for that; I had a big crush on him too. Pretty much started the moment he first set foot into my clinic. I think every single one of us was into him at some point. I’d wager even Serrah Sacred. Hawke _is_ a looker – and a charmer. I thought it would be him too, back then. If he had a slightly bigger attention span and didn’t somehow manage to flirt with a whole tavern before you even manage to finish one single drink, it might have been.”

He cups Fenris’ face in his hands as he continues, “But I am so glad it wasn’t. Not that he isn’t a dear friend, one that seems to care for us even more than he lets on, but believe me, he’s got nothing on you.”

Fenris feels his face falling prey to a smile he can’t contain. “I am glad to hear it. And do not doubt that I feel the same way.” His smile turns into a grin as a thought flits through his mind. “So…Hawke could have had both of us at the snap of a finger?”

Anders manages a rather impressive combination of a grin and a groan. “Yep. And if he hadn’t been too busy showing off, he would have. And let’s agree to never tell him that.”

“Certainly,” Fenris nods. “But enough about Hawke. I believe we have…other matters to attend to?”

“Now _that_ is a nicely suggestive expression – it suits you; you should wear it more often. And I agree, after all these weighty confessions and declarations, we could most definitely use more…pleasant activities,” Anders says, with a smirk that slowly loses confidence as he continues, “But are you sure you’re ready…I mean after what happened last time…we can wait if you…”

“Three years, mage.”

“I...see your point.”

 

 

Anders wakes up in the early hours of morning. For a second, he is afraid it was all just a dream, but then he notices a familiar, snoring sound next to him, and his fear dissolves into pure joy. He didn’t dream it, every word, every touch – it was all real. Grinning like a fool, he is happy, sated, though admittedly also exhausted…and a tiny bit sore. Fenris got a little over-eager there – not that he wouldn’t have stopped at a moment’s notice but well, Anders didn’t really want him to slow down. He had missed him so much. He wanted him so much, and he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t been worth it. Not to mention that his own pace wasn’t nearly as slow as during their first time either...but the elf was all smiles nonetheless (well, some smiles and a lot of moans, to be exact), so he is confident that it was still mutually enjoyable. Anders smiles. Sated indeed. It has been a long night, so many new memories to hold on to…But he doesn’t have to content himself with treasuring the past anymore. They have a present now. And a future. Fenris is still here, soundly asleep next to him, his face more peaceful than Anders has ever seen. This time, he didn’t leave. The mage yawns and lazily stretches his limbs, moving to curl up against the man beside him. For once, everything is alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re nearing the end, only two more chapters (well, one chapter and an epilogue) to go….Next one will probably be up by Wednesday.


	17. Chapter 17

Blondie and the elf are holding hands. Openly, at a table right in the middle of a tavern, like some bland, domestic couple. It is sickening. And sweet. Not a chapter that’s gonna write itself, too corny for solid dwarven tastes, but oddly heart-warming to see as a friend. It took three years, a dead magister, and he bets a very steamy reconnection (Blondie’s shifting around in his chair an awful lot today…you’d think he’d just heal that but well, he’s the sentimental type), yet it looks like they really made it this time. At least judging by the way the elf growls at anyone who dares to make a comment that is even remotely in the vicinity of something that might under some circumstances possibly be considered not entirely positive. Varric chuckles. Aveline is still recovering from the elf shutting her up over ‘”Do you really think that’s wise?”, and that woman is hard to deter.

He’s certainly glad they finally managed to work things out, but when – and _how_ \- did it happen? And how did he not notice? The others seem at least as stunned as he is – more, actually, since they didn’t know about the pair’s prior trysts. Well, except for Daisy of course. She didn’t let on that she had known about them all along though, just clapped her hands with an excited "Are you happy? You both look so happy!” And come to think of it, it’s probably safe to assume that what Daisy knows, Rivaini knows as well. Maybe that’s why she showed such unusual restraint. Her only comment was: "Good on you, boys. You could both do with less _tension_." – accompanied by a lot of grinning and winking, sure, but there was no further teasing or probing. For her, that’s downright tame. Donnic seems strangely unfazed as well, but the man survived what Aveline considered “courtship”; that would probably render anyone immune to surprises. His wife, however, is still staring in disbelief.

But nothing compared to Choirboy’s reaction. Rarely has there been a better impression of ''struck by the Maker's wrath". The only thing surpassing the width of his eyes was that of his mouth, though that was best measured vertically...starting at the ground. He still hasn't said anything beyond his initial "Fenris, you cannot _possibly_ …." - at least he was smarter than Aveline and shut up when the elf’s scowl of doom zeroed in on him, you have to give him that - but with the way he is staring at the pair’s interlaced fingers, you could almost think he'd been nursing some not-so-holy hopes himself underneath Andraste’s polished face. Now, that would almost make him interesting. Almost.

Hawke was as surprised by the revelation as Choirboy, although not nearly as appalled. He spent the better part of the evening shaking his head in confusion, lamenting “secret love-affairs within my innermost circle, my Varric, what will the critics say?” but, soft-hearted sap that he is, he eventually settled on cheery acceptance, “Oh well, I guess that’ll at least provide some entertainment for camping nights. I’m counting on your lovely voices to finally make it worth our while - who would have thought Isabela and Merrill would both turn out to be such quiet lovers! Anyway, drinks are on me. Let’s raise them to our antagonistic lovebirds. May they passionately ruffle each other’s feathers until death takes us all!”

Since these two textbook examples of “prickly” and “short-fused” merely blushed and giggled at that, love’s apparently really capable of moving mountains - or at least of making people happy. Happy usually makes for a boring write, but Varric will find a way to wrap it in spice. After all, he manages to transform someone who simply barges into every mess he happens to stumble upon and would be better equipped for the position of court jester into a tactical mastermind when he spins the Champion’s tale. This one should be easy in comparison.

Nora brings another round of drinks, and they all toast, Rivaini focussed on Daisy; Blondie and the elf entirely lost in each other; Aveline and Donnic squabbling with that good-natured connection that nothing seems to be able to shake; Choirboy still looking like he needs to urgently visit the facilities, probably engaging in silent debate with the deity that so cruelly forsook him; some of them sadly absent (poor Sunshine); Hawke and Varric content to watch their friends’ entanglements from the outside.

At least he hopes Hawke is content. Not everyone is as committed to their weapon as Varric is, he needs to remember that and keep watch if Hawke is alright. And should it turn out he is not…well, there’s always room to change the story. That woman who helps the refugees and always keeps a protective eye on Blondie could certainly use some fun in her life. Those two bleeding hearts, _blown here from the same faraway place across the sea by the winds of fate, always looking to make life better for their fellow countrymen while failing to see what is right in front of them_ …there might just be another story there. If Hawke is so inclined. With him, it’s a bit hard to tell if he likes nothing, or everything.

Or perhaps there is something to be said for a less cosy approach - looking at the elf and his new favourite mage, a little tension seems to go a long way...the Seneschal perhaps? That one would at least be a challenge, compared to the level of dislike between him and Hawke, Blondie and the elf have been downright companionable even during their worst times. _Loins on fire_ – a fire caused by vehement loathing, sure, but well, details could be figured out later. _The Sneering Suitor_ might just be perfect for the next part of _Hard in Hightown_.

But that’s for later, first he has to finish the story that is taking place right in front of him.

“Any idea how that came to pass?” He turns towards Hawke, indicating the two men still firmly holding hands.

Hawke shrugs, accompanied by his usual friendly chuckle. “What are you asking me for? You’re the narrative mastermind. I’m just a big old puppy that tells jokes.”

The dwarf returns the chuckle, he might just steal the expression, polish it up a bit. It captures his best friend rather well.

“True indeed, my friend, true indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, only one more to go…Epilogue should be up by Friday.


	18. Epilogue

It’s almost noon when Anders wakes again, this time to green eyes intently studying his face.

"You’re still here," he murmurs, smile and sleep in his voice. It has only been a few hours since he last reassured himself that was still the case...and he’s probably going to have to repeat that every few hours for the next week at least. It's not that he doesn't trust Fenris, but even if all his dreams having finally come true weren’t enough reason for disbelief already – he knows first-hand how easily happiness can be taken from you.

"I am," Fenris nods. He adds, more firmly "Nothing is going to keep me from you."

"That's good, cause there's no getting rid of me now. You've got yourself some clingy handful of mage, I hope you’re prepared for that." Anders’ fingers are absentmindedly playing with a stray lock of hair on the elf’s forehead.

"I quite like having my hands full," Fenris smirks, cupping Anders’ arse for emphasis. “And considering the rides you are going to be taking, clinging might not be the worst idea."

Anders feels a smile rising up...well, maybe that's not the only thing that's rising. It still catches him off guard how Fenris can be all blushing shyness one moment, and dripping seduction the next - and that he trusts Anders enough to let him see both.

"That sounds like you have plans...and it sounds like I might rather enjoy them.” He's about to kiss Fenris, maybe start on putting the elf’s lovely plans into action, when his first, sleepy thought catches up with him. "You were regarding me rather thoughtfully when I woke up, though. Any questions, confessions or wrongdoings of mine that need to be discussed?"

"No," Fenris says with a smile. At Anders' raised eyebrows he continues, "I...was allowing myself to luxuriate in the knowledge that you are mine." He clears his throat. "And remembering how it all began. There was a similar expression on your face back then…peaceful. Not quite of this world. I felt guilty for taking advantage at the time but...I am afraid I cannot regret it."

Anders returns the smile, remembering their first kiss - the one he cannot actually _remember_. "Well, you'd better not regret it; I doubt we'd be here without it...and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else. And don't forget, I approached you first. In the sneaky cloak of sleep."

"I did not forget. I never will. That kiss was the most important thing that ever happened to me."

Fenris' voice is so earnest, Anders has to fight to keep his composure. He _won't_ cry on him, at least not now. He can't make promises for later.

Fenris continues, "Were you dreaming of Hawke during that kiss?"

It should be a loaded question, yet the tone isn’t accusing. Still, Anders struggles with the answer. Partly because he doesn't want to hurt Fenris, but mainly because he doesn't know what the answer _is_. His memories of that moment are hazy. But he will share everything he _does_ remember. He will not lie to Fenris, not after he spent three years hurting him, hiding his feelings in attacks.

"I'm not sure. Honestly, I don't really remember. It's possible. Even right after I woke up, all I could recall of those last remnants of dreams that had still had a hold on my mind while we kissed were.... fleeting impressions. Fragments. Hawke's face may have been in there, I am fairly certain it was, but everything was...intermingling with...your scent; it was somehow blended with the images. Your face may have been in there too, but I can't be sure. It was all a bit of a blur. The main thing I remember was a sensation...a feeling of…home. And when I fully awoke, I still felt at home, and then..." He's trying to find the right words to say this, when Fenris interrupts him.

"I know. I remember the horror on your face."

Anders pulls him close; he has to, the hurt in Fenris' voice cuts too deep. "It wasn't horror so much as confusion. I hadn't had any feeling of something even remotely like home for so many years and to think that I felt it with you...back then, I just didn't know what to do with that. I was a fool who didn't realize what a gift he had been given, so I just blamed it on drowsiness and dismissed it. We're lucky you were braver, or we might have squandered it."

Fenris moves far enough out of their embrace to look at him. "I froze and was too much of a coward to even look at you for days. _You_ were the one who suggested another kiss."

"Which I only did because you were strong enough _not_ to dismiss it, to let your confusion show. It was weird when you just completely avoided me - I actually missed our bickering, so I felt I had to do something. And even then, I didn't realize _what_ I was doing...I just thought it might be fun. You forced me into action - and you didn't even need a single word for it. Maybe I should try to pick up some of your silent treatment."

"You would explode."

Anders can't help chuckling at Fenris' deadpan expression. "You're probably right. And we wouldn't want that, now that I'm finally home, would we?"

"No," Fenris says with a smile and a kiss to Anders’ nose. "You are my home as well. I will collect every single piece and rebuild you if I have to, but I would prefer you kept it intact."

"For you, I just might." He sighs. "Though I should really try for at least a little more silence - think of all the amazing sex I'm keeping myself from having with all these earnest discussions!"

“Looking at the last three years, I am not sure we need _less_ talking. Besides, one does not preclude the other," Fenris says, and the look on his face doesn’t make Anders gasp like some blushing novice, no, not in the slightest - and he also does most certainly _not_ start to shiver when Fenris leans over and whispers right into his ear, "And I am sure I can think of ways to...shut you up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And…we've reached the end...have to admit, it's hard to let the boys go… Thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to everyone who left comments - you are all wonderful!


End file.
